Awakening
by keru.m
Summary: AU. What if Mac had found a ward after Paraguay, instead of Harm?
1. Chapter 1

**Awakening**

Summary: AU. What if Mac had found a ward after Paraguay, instead of Harm?

A/N: You will note in this story that some of the timeline may be off from the show. It had to be done to add cohesion and flow to the plot herein. Many liberties have been taken, too, with the way things work in reality. I ask your indulgence in letting it go.

This is obviously a shipper fic of the Harm and Mac variety. It has 3-4 parts.

A quick note about the story 'Goodbyes': long story short I lost of all my chapter drafts and the idea of rewriting everything, especially when I really like what I had, was just too big a task. I'm disappointed about it, too. Sorry.

* * *

Mac pulled her car into the parking lot of a rundown convenience store not far from her apartment. One street over, in the direction of her home, warm brownstones, iron-wrought fences, and old leafy trees dominated the landscape. But here, the homes and storefronts were used and slightly neglected. Old paint was peeling off the signs and mailboxes, grass grew only in patches, and store windows were smudged by the marks of a thousand handprints. The wrong side of the tracks, Mac thought. But this was the only store anywhere near her apartment that was open at this hour.

She stepped out of her car, purse in hand. A warm night met her, the dregs of the hot and humid summer's day still hanging in the air.

Mac took a deep breath of fresh air, before entering the stuffy convenience store. A small, largely ineffective fan that sat behind the counter, its blades moving in slow, wheezing circles through the otherwise still air. The store's only clerk stood behind the counter. Sweat stained his shirt. His grey hair fluttered lightly with the fan's breeze. He glanced up at her through thick glasses as she entered, then turned his attention back to the customer he was ringing up.

Mac made her way to the back of the store where the large refrigerators hummed, picking up a few items along the way.

"Nine dollars, eighty-five cents," the old man said, his voice carrying over to her.

Mac glanced to the front of the store, and saw that the customer he was speaking with was actually a teenaged girl, no more than fourteen or maybe fifteen years of age. A slightly large hooded sweatshirt hung on her shoulders. Her jeans were scuffed, her shoes faded, her dark brown hair tied up in a messy ponytail.

The girl turned her head and caught Mac staring. She was young, too young to be out alone so late, but Mac recognized that look of defiant self-sufficiency, of angry independence; that look of loneliness in the girl's green eyes.

Mac schooled her features into a neutral warmth, and offered a slight upturn of her lips but nothing else. The girl looked Mac in the eyes for a long moment. Her gaze tripped down Mac's uniform before she went back to taking change out from her jean pockets, each coin falling with a slight ting onto the counter, scratching the surface as she counted out her total in dimes and nickels and quarters. The old clerk waited patiently, saying nothing, showing neither curiosity nor any emotion. Mac knew from her sporadic visits over the years that he had been running this store for a very long time. He had likely seen worse than a barely teenaged girl alone at 11PM; had probably learned early on not to get involved.

The clerk nodded at the girl as he slid the change from the counter into the palm of his hand. She took her bag of groceries, headed straight for the exit. The girl looked over her shoulder as she reached the door, her eyes catching Mac's briefly. And then the girl pushed the door open and was gone. The bell above the door chimed sharply, an echoing reminder of her presence.

Mac, armed with what she needed for the night, walked over to the register. The look in the girl's eyes stayed with her, even as the bell's sharp clang slowly faded. She placed her items on the counter, offered the clerk a friendly nod.

"It's late out for a kid that young," the old man said as he rang up her purchases. Mac watched as each item was scanned with a beep, her total owed slowly increasing. A couple of bottles of sparkling water, some candles, a lighter. Clay would be coming by her apartment in the next half hour. She wondered if she had any food in her fridge. She couldn't remember. Didn't matter, really. Offering up food would only dig into the time they had, would distract from what she really wanted from him. There were no illusions here, no subtext, no intentions hidden in impenetrable hearts.

"You'd think her parents would keep a better eye on her," the clerk continued, shaking his head.

"She lives nearby?" Mac asked the clerk. The girl had bought a loaf of white bread, a gallon of juice, a jar of peanut butter. The makings of a relatively cheap meal.

"Why else would she come here?" he replied. "Always late at night. Mostly pays in change." He shrugged. "Not my business."

Mac offered him a ten, waited as he counted out her change. It troubled him, she realized, seeing that child out so late even if he wouldn't admit it.

"How long?" she asked him.

"Maybe two months." He handed her a couple of singles and some change.

"Thanks," she said, taking her items and dumping the coins in the fundraising tin by the register.

He nodded. "You have a good night."

* * *

"You're a million miles away," Clay said. He lay behind her on her bed, one hand on her hip, the other soft and warm as it traced the ridges of her spine.

"Hm," she murmured, her mind replaying the image of that angry, lonely girl. "A long day."

"Tough case?" he asked.

Mac bit back a sigh. She didn't want to talk about it, any of it. She turned around, the bedsheet falling away from her torso, exposing her chest. His eyes slipped downward and stayed there for a couple of moments.

Some men, she thought, were so easy to distract.

She ran her fingers through his hair, her thumb traced the shell of his ear. His eyes met hers again, sharp and slightly accusing, and she realized that maybe this man wasn't quite so easy to distract. But she saw the resignation in his eyes, the surrender.

He pulled her close, his lips trailing along her jaw, leaving soft kisses on her neck.

"One day," he said, "I will get you to talk."

"But not today," she said, sliding her hands around his shoulders.

"But not today," he sighed into her skin.

* * *

Two weeks later, Mac found herself once again at the convenience store. Clay was away for a couple of days, keeping his mother company as she made the social rounds in some wealthy New England enclave. So Mac had only herself for company. She hadn't been much enjoying her own company so far. Not tonight, not since she'd set foot back in DC. The shadows at her place were too vivid and the silences, too loud.

She had stepped out of her overwhelming apartment with a plan to take a long, aimless run to get away from herself. Her feet, however, led her to the rundown store.

She was hit by the too-stuffy air the moment she walked through the door.

The clerk looked up. He nodded at her. She looked around the store and found it was empty.

An unexpected disappointment overtook her. She bought herself a bottle of water.

"Did she come back?" Mac asked. "The girl?"

The clerk shook his head. Mac tried to hide the unbidden rush of sadness that washed over her.

"Maybe money's tight," he offered.

"Maybe."

* * *

Another two weeks passed before Mac went back to the store. Clay was away on assignment this time. He wasn't a full field agent yet, and wouldn't be until his doctors cleared him. In the meanwhile, the agency still called him out to consult, flew him to the corners of the world, and set him up inside bunkered field offices with little to no natural light. He sent her tokens. Reminders that he was thinking of her, even when he couldn't be with her.

It was romantic, she supposed. But she didn't want romance. Flowers and cards and sweet sentimental knickknacks did nothing for her. She wanted something more visceral, something that would jolt her heart awake from its deadweight slumber in her chest. The yearning for something she couldn't identify, something she felt innately that she could never have, left her in a tailspin, unable to wrestle control over anything. At least, not anything in her personal life. At work, she was on her game. No-nonsense. Take-no-prisoners. Ice and efficiency. She knew her attitude wasn't winning her any new friends, and it was likely alienating what friends she did have. She couldn't find it in her to care.

The bell above the door chimed loudly, announcing Mac's entry. A vicious anxiety filled her. The clerk was still behind his counter, a stalwart fixture in his poorly ventilated domain. He looked up from his magazine.

She raised an eyebrow in expectation.

"She came a week ago," he said to her unasked question. "Water. Bread. Peanut butter." He paused. "A chocolate bar."

Mac found herself grinning. It was such an unfamiliar expression to wear, out of sync with the lines and planes of her face.

"Maybe money is good," she said, her grin growing wider.

The old man returned her grin. It looked like an unfamiliar expression on his face, too.

"Maybe," he agreed, his thick, bespectacled gaze was warm and admiring. "You should smile more," he said.

"I haven't had a reason to," Mac replied, "not in a long while." She let out a long breath of relief. The girl was surviving. "Thank you," she told the clerk.

He nodded, his eyes shadowing over slightly at her reply.

She remembered again that look in the girl's eyes. Without really allowing herself room for thought, Mac pulled a twenty out of her wallet and walked over to the clerk.

"Next time she comes," Mac said, "use this to pay for her groceries." She handed him the bill.

"She won't accept it."

"Try anyways. Say the items are on sale. Something."

He nodded, took the money. She turned to leave.

"You have a good night," he said.

* * *

A whole month passed before Mac could make it back to the convenience store. Assignments and cases and Clay's return conspired to eat up her time.

"I told her she could have a discount on stuff that had been on the shelves too long," the clerk told Mac. "Told her I was trying to clear old inventory."

"She bought it?"

"She was suspicious, but..." he lifted a thin shoulder. They both figured the girl had little choice.

"She spent it on more food?"

"She got some canned soups and beans. Crackers. Biscuits. Fruit juice. The like."

"Good." Mac took out another twenty and handed it to the clerk.

The door chimed behind them. They both turned to see the girl walk in. She stopped and stared at them, startled by the sudden attention being leveled at her.

"Thanks," Mac told the clerk, and made her way to the candy aisle. She browsed through the selection of gummy candies and chocolates and sweets, her attention fixed mostly on the girl.

"Any more of that old inventory left?" the kid asked the old man.

"Have at it," he pointed to a couple of baskets filled with food items, resting on the ground by the checkout counter. He watched for a moment as the girl rifled through the baskets, before looking at Mac.

She met his gaze, conveyed her gratitude. He went back to reading his magazine. Mac studied the girl. Her clothes were worn, but in good shape. Her hair was washed, her teeth clean and healthy. She looked, generally, like she was taken care of.

Mac knew from experience, however, that some kids learned how to take care of themselves at a very young age. There might not be a functional adult in this child's life.

The girl stood up, holding one overbrimming basket.

"How much?" she asked the clerk.

He took the basket and went through the items one by one, while the girl got herself a gallon of juice from the fridge. She walked right by Mac, who had mindlessly picked up a bag of trail mix and another of gummy worms. The girl watched Mac as she made her way back to the counter. Her eyes held an intelligence, a savviness that belied her age. Mac couldn't help but grin. The girl looked away quickly at being caught out.

"Let's make it seven dollars even," the clerk said to the teen. "Ten fifty-eight with the juice."

The girl took out two cans of soup from the basket. "Now?"

The old man looked from the soup, to the girl, to Mac, and back to the girl.

"How much have you got?" he asked.

The girl bristled. "How much without the soup?" she said. Mac could see the fight brewing in the girl's stiff posture.

"I have to get rid of this stuff anyways," he told her. "How much have you got?"

Mac was standing behind the girl now, and she could see the tips of the girl's ears turning red. Embarrassment, she thought desperately, at having to go through this with a witness.

"Here." Mac put a five dollar bill on the counter, and then turned quickly on her heel. "I'm late for a meeting. Keep the change." She left the store without looking back, stuffing the bags of trail mix and gummy worms in her jacket pockets.

* * *

"You've been distracted since I've gotten back."

Clay was sitting next to her on the living room floor of her apartment. Candlelight flickered around them, creating a cozy setting. He had brought them dinner from an upscale italian bistro near his place, and had set up an impromptu picnic on her coffee table. A wineglass filled with sparkling water sat by her elbow. A tumbler with a light amber liquid sat by his. He had brought a bottle of that as well, with him.

She set her fork down. "Have I?"

He nodded, studying her carefully. She saw the warmth in his eyes, the wonder, the affection. He had told her once, whispered into her ear as they lay skin to skin in her tangled bed sheets, how extraordinary he found her. How amazing. How good. She knew he meant it, but she also knew she wasn't what he saw in her.

He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, his hand coming to rest on her nape.

"What is it?" he asked.

She slid closer to him, her hand reached up to play with the buttons on his shirt.

She thought of the girl, of her red-tipped ears. She wondered what hell the girl went home to; if she even had a home to go to.

"Sarah?"

Mac rested her face in the crook of his neck, and breathed in deeply trying to find some comfort. But the scent of him did nothing to set her ease, nothing to set her on fire. Nothing.

She kissed the skin she found there, a slow, wet play of her lips trying to ignite something, anything in her.

He pulled back, one hand still on her neck, the other holding her by the shoulder.

"Mac." The warning in his voice was clear, the frustration.

"We don't talk, Clay," she said. "We never talk. Why start now."

"We never talk because you never want to."

She said nothing.

"But I want more," he persisted. "We're good together."

She pulled out of his hold. "We aren't," she said. "We aren't good for each other."

"Hey," he reached for her hand but she moved it out of his reach. Clay sighed in frustration. "What do you want, Sarah?"

She didn't know. More importantly, she realized that she didn't care. A picture of that girl flashed in her eyes. That had been her once. She'd pulled herself out of there by the skin of her teeth. And for what?

"Is this going anywhere?" he asked, gesturing at the space between them. "You and me?"

"Does it need to?"

He stood up.

"This isn't enough for me." He picked up his coat.

He slipped out her front door, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Mac stood in the middle of her living room, waiting as the silence pressed down on her, as the shadows slowly encroached over the flickering candle light. It no longer seemed so cozy.

She sighed. Switched on the lights, blew out the candles. Starting picking up their picnic dinner. She stopped at the tumbler of amber liquid that stood by Clay's half-eaten gnocchi. It shone golden in the lamplight, and the smell of it reminded her of his lips on her throat, of that shimmer in his eyes when he looked at her.

Mac picked up the glass and the mostly-full bottle that Clay had left behind, and poured their contents down the kitchen sink. She put the rest of their dinner in the trash along with the bottle. She stored away the candles, and then she left her dark, empty apartment. Fresh air would do her good.

Her feet had brought her back to the convenience store. She stood across the street, staring at the faded green awning, at the worn bars in the windows, at the flimsy door, feeling empty. Mac sat down on a nearby bench, and leaned her head back to stare up at a sky full of stars she couldn't see. She slipped her hands into the light jacket she'd grabbed on her way out of her apartment, and felt the crinkled bags that still lay there. One of trail mix, and one of gummy worms.

She'd forgotten about them. She stared at the two bags in her hands. She wasn't hungry, and yet there was something appealing about eating candy on a warm summer's night. Something innocent and childlike.

"Can't decide which one to have first?"

Mac looked up to see the girl from the convenience store. She was standing by the curb, a bag of groceries in her hand, eyeing Mac with an endearing mix of curiosity, trepidation, and courage. It made the girl seem younger than her already young years.

"Want to share?" Mac offered.

The girl eyed Mac, sizing her up. Doubt was written across her features and in her body language.

Mac threw the bag of trail mix towards the girl who, to her credit, had good enough reflexes to make the catch with her one free hand.

"Can I have some candy, too?" the girl asked, looking down at the bag of raisins, berries, and nuts with something like disappointment. Mac hid her grin.

"I'll think about it," Mac replied as she tore open the bag of gummy worms and popped a red and yellow one in her mouth. It was delightfully sour, perfectly sweet. She looked at the girl, who was still standing awkwardly by the curb. "My name's Sarah MacKenzie," she said. "Friends call me Mac."

The girl raised an eyebrow at that.

"Mac?" she said dubiously, looking at the dress Mac was wearing underneath her jacket. The dress she'd put on for dinner with Clay. "What do I call you?"

"I only share candy with friends," she replied, holding the bag out to the girl.

The kid took a handful of worms out of the bag and took a seat next to Mac.

"My friends call me Jay," she said chewing eagerly on the candy.

Jay opened the bag of trail mix, her mouth still full, and ate a handful. They sat together in silence, snacking under the streetlights.

"I've seen you in there," Jay finally said, nodding towards the convenience store across the street. She looked to be building up to saying something, and Mac wondered what it was. Mac waited the girl out.

"My parents send me out to pick up stuff. You know, odds and ends. We live just over there," she tilted her chin vaguely towards the nearby intersection.

The wrong side of the tracks, Mac thought.

"They can see me from the window when I go," Jay continued, giving Mac a quick, sidelong glance. She shrugged with a forced nonchalance. "I just run out real quick and head right back."

Mac stopped chewing and watched the girl. The tips of Jay's ears had slowly reddened under Mac's scrutiny. It was adorable, Mac thought. Up close, wearing a light purple t-shirt and jeans, the girl looked like any kid enjoying her summer vacation, innocent and unburdened. Her eyes, though, gave her away. Mac's heart tightened as she watched Jay struggle to throw off suspicion. It was an odd feeling in her chest, a thing forgotten and unfamiliar. A slow beat of life in a long-barren place.

"I should go," Jay said, standing up. She held the bag out towards Mac. "Thanks for sharing."

"Keep it," Mac said. She handed the girl the bag of gummy worms, too.

"Are you sure?" Jay asked.

"I wouldn't offer if I wasn't."

Jay took the bag.

"Get home safe."

"I will." She picked up her bag of groceries and walked down the street, in the direction she had said her home was in.

Mac considered following the kid, but she didn't want to break the tenuous connection they'd formed. Instead, she sat on the bench, and stared up at the night sky. She found herself smiling.

* * *

It was another clear summer's night, the first such night after a week of steady rainfall, and Mac decided to sit on the bench across the street from the convenience store. Jay no doubt lived nearby, even if not exactly in the general vicinity she'd pointed out to Mac. Maybe the girl would see Mac on the bench and be drawn out. In the meanwhile, Mac took out a book and immersed herself in the story, making sure not to pay any attention to her surroundings. She didn't want to spook the skittish kid.

She wasn't really sure as it was what had led Jay to approach her a week ago. If she'd been in Jay's shoes, she would have laid low and avoided any adult who could've identified her or been given reason to worry about her late-night shopping trips.

Twenty minutes later, Mac's hunch was validated when Jay took a seat beside her on the bench. She put away her book and turned to the girl.

"Hey," she said.

"Hi," Jay replied. She looked a bit nervous, on her guard.

Mac opened the large paper bag on the ground, and pulled out her offerings.

"Donuts and chocolate milk," she opened a box holding a dozen donuts. "Care to share?"

Jay's eyes lit up, but she was quick to hide it. She shrugged coolly. "Sure."

Mac took an apple fritter for herself. Jay selected a jelly powdered one.

Maybe, Mac thought with a sudden pang of guilt, she should bring a large salad or fruit next time.

They didn't speak for a while. Jay was busy eating her donut, a look of pure pleasure on her face.

"This is delicious," she said as she wiped her mouth. She eyed the box.

"Have another," Mac said easily. She uncapped a bottle of chocolate milk for herself and took a long sip. Jay took another donut, and the second bottle of milk.

"Thanks," she said. She chewed her second donut more slowly, tangled deep in some thought.

Mac waited.

"I don't need your help, you know," Jay finally said when she finished her Boston cream.

"Why did you come up to me last week?" Mac asked gently.

The girl stared at the bottle of milk in her hands. The tips of her ears reddened.

"Jay?" Mac prompted.

Jay stood up abruptly, but not before Mac caught the angry flash of tears in her eyes.

"Hey," Mac said, standing up as well. "Wait."

But the girl was already in full sprint, running away. Mac didn't follow.

She picked up the box of donuts and her unfinished bottle of milk. At least Jay took the other bottle with her, Mac thought. She crossed the street and walked into the convenience store. She handed the clerk a twenty dollar bill.

"If she comes back," Mac explained.

The clerk nodded slowly as he took the money from her. He tipped his head toward the bench on the sidewalk across the street, clearly visible from his perch behind the counter.

"You're asking for trouble," he said.

Mac released a long, slow breath. She looked towards the empty bench..

"Maybe."

* * *

For the next month, Mac made a weekly pilgrimage to the park bench. Jay never showed up. The kid had shown up twice at the convenience store in that period, the clerk told her, just never when Mac was around. Mac gave the clerk a twenty after both times.

During that same month, she didn't reach out to Clay. He had been true to his word, and was leaving her alone. She was figuring out that although she hadn't felt any measure of happiness in a long time, being apart from him made her neither less unhappy nor more happy. It was as though he was a memory from a long distant past. She could remember every nuance of her time with him, the brush of his skin against hers, the warmth of his breath, the tenderness in his touch. Yet she could feel no emotion attached to any of those sensations.

He was easy to forget.

What Mac could not forget, however, was Jay. She had tried to subtly prod information on how to locate missing persons out of Bud, but finding a girl on whom she had no real information was pretty much impossible. It occurred to her that maybe Clay could help her find the girl, but she knew he would ask more questions than he would provide answers. Once upon a time, she would have gone to Harm and convinced him to help her.

Then again, it had been a long time, maybe years, since she had asked Harm for help. He gave his opinion to her freely, usually without her asking but also usually when she needed it most. He helped her without her having to ask. She knew that she did the same with him. They'd watched each other's backs for things little and big. Saved each other's sixes.

But that was all in the past now. She had only herself to rely on, same as it had been before she found her way to JAG all those years ago.

"You'll call me when she comes in." It was less a question, more a statement.

The clerk nodded, taking the card from Mac's hand.

"My cell number is written on the back."

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Not really," Mac replied honestly.

Three nights later, her cell pinged with a text message from the clerk.

_Kid just walked in._

Mac was out of her apartment not a minute later. She jogged over to the convenience store and hid in a darkened alleyway across the street. It afforded her the perfect line of sight, ample cover. Three minutes and thirteen seconds later, Jay exited the convenience store with a bag of food in hand. The kid was easy to follow; neither trained nor suspicious of a tail.

Jay walked along the street, in the direction she had told Mac her parents' home was. With a quick glance over her shoulder, the girl hopped the fence into a vacant lot overgrown with weeds. She headed to the back corner of the lot, and removed a few planks of discarded wood to reveal a small opening. Mac watched as the girl slipped into her secret hideaway. It seemed to lead to the basement of the building next door. Probably a boiler room or storage area. The planks of wood slid back into place.

It would explain why the girl only went out at night. She would be easy to spot slipping into the lot and through the opening during daylight hours. At night, the area was not well-lit and visibility was poor.

Mac walked home, a plan formulating.

The next night, Mac returned to the vacant lot. There was a park across the street, and Mac waited there. She sat on the swings, her eyes fixed on the entrance to the girl's secret home. She doubted Jay would confine herself to a concrete basement, not when there were swings and slide just across the street. Sure enough, around 11PM, the girl carefully slipped out from between the disused wooden planks and picked her way out of the lot. She hopped the fence and skipped into the park. It was only when she reached the slide that she saw Mac sitting on the swings.

"Oh," she said. And then caught herself, "my parents are expecting me...I was just playing around…" Jay trailed off at Mac's raised eyebrow.

Jay's face dropped in defeat. Then she steeled herself, her eyes darting back and forth, planning an escape route. They both knew, however, that she wouldn't be able to go very far, not when all her things were in a basement across the street. She ended up standing still, a quick anger sparking in her eyes. A validation of everything she'd told herself to believe so far about adults, about the world.

"You gonna call the cops now?" she asked Mac, wearing that angry defiance that had first drawn the Marine to the girl.

Mac shook her head.

Jay frowned. She hesitated. "You...going to kidnap me or something?"

Mac had to smile at that. "I won't hurt you. I can promise you that."

The girl crossed her arms over her chest. "Then what? You're going to rescue me?"

"You look like you can take care of yourself."

That caught her short. "Then why are you here?"

"You also look like you could use a friend," Mac replied.

Jay stared at her.

"Frankly," Mac said, "I could use a friend, too. I've had a hell of a few months."

The kid, obviously, didn't trust her.

Mac stood up. "Come on. I know a diner nearby that's open 24 hours." The girl didn't move. "We can walk, so there's no need to get into a stranger's car."

"I thought you said you were my friend," Jay pointed out petulantly, still upset with her. But she followed Mac, even if sullenly.

"I hope you don't buy that line from everyone who offers you candy," Mac teased.

"It was the trailmix that did me in. I love raisins."

"I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Mac watched as Jay devoured the double cheeseburger on the plate in front of her. The kid had already inhaled half her fries and a healthy portion of her milkshake. She considered warning Jay about the possibility of a stomachache, but stopped herself. The kid had been eating bread and peanut butter, crackers and canned soup for god knows how long.

"I haven't had warm food in forever," the girl said between bites. "I forgot how good it is."

Mac remembered those times from her own teenage years, although they were definitely fewer and farther in between than what Jay had been experiencing.

With her burger done, Jay focused on her fries and shake. She was fully immersed in the task of eating until she noticed that Mac had not really touched her own meal.

Jay sighed. "You want to know everything, don't you?"

Mac watched the girl.

"The whole sob story," Jay continued in a dismissive tone. "But I'm doing fine. I'm fine."

Mac said nothing.

"And I don't know you, anyways," Jay said, defiance creeping into her tone.

"What would you like to know?" Mac offered.

The teenager studied Mac carefully across the table.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a Marine," Mac replied. Jay's eyes widened in surprise. "A lawyer stationed at the Judge Advocate General's."

"A Marine lawyer?"

"Yep."

"Why did you become a Marine?" the girl asked, curiosity replacing her previous anger, her reticence.

"My uncle was a Marine. He was my role model. I grew up in Arizona. My dad was enlisted in the military, too, but he wasn't the stuff of good role models. He used to hit my mom, and he drank. A lot." Mac watched Jay's eyes darken with understanding. With shared pain. "When I was not much older than you, my mom left us; me and my dad. His drinking got worse, and I followed him down that path for a while. My uncle helped me pull myself up by my bootstraps. I joined the Marines after I cleaned up, because it was a way to get an education, a roof over my head, three square meals a day. After I joined, I was given the chance to study to become a lawyer."

"And here you are," Jay said. Mac felt the girl thaw towards her, if only slightly.

"And here I am."

"That's why you're doing this?" she gestured to the half-eaten meal between them.

"Among other reasons," Mac acknowledged. "I know what it's like to need a friend."

"You'll let me go back?" Jay asked hopefully.

"I'm sorry," Mac shook her head. "I'd be breaking the law if I did that."

The anger was back in the girl's eyes, hot and crackling. Mac could see the fear behind it, though. The anxiety.

"Can you tell me where your parents are?" Mac asked gently.

Jay's expression hardened. "You're not being much of a friend."

"Did you run away from home?" She ignored the jab.

The girl kept her mouth shut. She crossed her arms over her chest. Her brow set in a deep frown.

"Jay," Mac said, "if your parents are out there, they're going to be worried about you-"

She shook her head viciously.

"-they may have filed a missing person's report-"

"He hasn't," she cut Mac off with a quiet voice so full of hurt that Mac had to catch her breath.

"How do you know?" she asked gently.

"He said he was going out for a job," she replied. She fiddled with the cold fries on her plate. "Said he found paying work. He'd be back in a few hours. He left a fridge full of food, and money by the phone. He'd never done that before."

Mac knew the look in the girl's eyes, recognized it from the look that had stared back at her from the mirror when she was fifteen, and for years afterwards.

"He didn't come back." Jay said in a quiet voice. "That was five months and six days ago."

Did her father leave her, Mac wondered, or had something happened to him?

"And your mom?"

The girl had been remarkably stoic until now, but at the mention of her mother, her eyes teared up.

Jay looked down at her hands. "You asked me why I walked up to you the other night." She wasn't looking at Mac, but the tips of her ears wore a slight blush that spread over her cheeks. "I did it because you looked nice. You have … kind eyes." Her speech halted. Tears wet her lashes. "Reminded me of my mom."

Mac slid into Jay's side of the booth. When was the last time this girl had felt a human touch, she wondered. She placed her hands over the girl's fidgeting ones. The tears fell from Jay's eyes. She didn't wipe them away, instead she stared at their joined hands.

"She - my mom - she's not here anymore."

"I'm sorry," Mac said. She put an arm around the girl.

"She got really sick last year. It all happened pretty fast." She sniffed, wiped her eyes on her sleeves.

Mac held the girl close. Jay was hard and unyielding in her arms, but she didn't pull away.

"My dad was like yours," Jay whispered.

Mac said nothing, just held the girl.

"You're not going to let me go back, are you?"

"I can't, kid," Mac said. "It's not safe for you." She felt a wave of damp tears soak into her shirt.

"So you'll call the cops."

"I have a better idea. I think it might work."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks, everyone, for all of your wonderful reviews, feedback, and comments. I had planned on posting much sooner, but after reading your reviews, I got all kinds of great ideas for improving the flow of the story, and the development of Mac and Jules' relationship, especially in this chapter. The story will now certainly have four parts.

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Awakenings  
**

Mac stared at the phone in her hands. Since she and Jay had left the diner and gone to gather the girl's belongings from her hideout, Mac had asked herself many times what the hell she was doing. The call she was about to make, one she dreaded to make, had her asking herself the question again.

Seeking temporary custody of a homeless teen, she reminded herself. That's what you're doing. Just until the police can locate her father.

She'd called in quite a few favours to set the wheels in motion. Her connections through the DC courts, previous encounters with Child Services through pro bono work, and her own network of contacts through her participation in DC's mentorship and domestic abuse support programs had given her a solid list of folks willing to go to bat for her. It was the only reason she had been allowed to take Jay to her place until the police and Child Services took the girl's statement.

The girl whose full name was Juliette Spencer and who was indeed fourteen years old.

It had taken Mac most of the night to work out the logistics, while a clearly exhausted fourteen year-old had gone to sleep on the bed in the guest room. The first real bed she'd slept in in months.

While Mac was supremely thankful for all she had been able to accomplish, she knew she still had one major hurdle to cross. She'd put off this call until a more seemly hour of the morning, but now with the sun firmly hanging in the morning sky, she had no more excuses to make. Mac rallied her courage and dialled the dreaded number. He answered after three short rings.

"Chegwidden."

"Good morning, Sir."

"Colonel MacKenzie," the Admiral replied, his tone guarded.

"Sir, I am calling to request permission for a week's leave."

"We're short-staffed as it is, Colonel." The Admiral's reply was a loud, angry thing. "I don't need to remind you of the SNAFU Imes left in her wake."

Mac felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. "Sir," she tried again. "It's a family emergency. I wouldn't ask if I had any other recourse."

There was silence on the other end.

"Permission granted, Colonel," he finally said. His tone could've turned the sun to ice. "I'll find a way to have the office pick up your slack." With that, he hung up on her.

As frustrating as that was, Mac knew she had bigger things to worry about. She glanced towards Juliette's room, wondering at how long a nap she could catch before the teenager woke up and the day truly had to begin. A couple of hours at least, she told herself. She abandoned the idea of going to her room and lay down on the couch instead. A couple of hours, at least.

* * *

"So I have to stay with you?" Jay peered at Mac over her bowl of cereal. Mac was thankful she had fresh milk in her fridge. She suspected the cereal might be a bit stale, but Juliette hadn't commented on it.

"I would like to petition the court for temporary custody," Mac answered. "If you agree."

"What choice do I have?" Juliette asked, she stared at the cereal in her bowl. The soggy flakes floated listlessly.

"Well, you can't stay by yourself. The city would probably put you in a group home, given your age." Mac studied the girl, trying to figure out if Jay didn't want to stay with her, or if she didn't trust Mac to follow through on her promise.

"You're okay with me staying here?" Jay asked quietly. She didn't look up from her milk.

"More than okay."

No response.

"Juliette," she said. "If you're not comfortable here, you don't have to stay. Child Services will be coming by soon, and you can tell them the full truth. I can even leave the room while you do. Okay?"

"I don't want to go to a group home," Jules mumbled. Mac could see tears in her eyes. "I was fine by myself."

"This is just temporary," Mac tried to assure her. She tried to reassure herself, too. What else could she have done. No fourteen year-old should be by herself, mending a broken heart. "Until the police figure out what happened to your father."

"He left," Jay replied sullenly. "What else is there to figure out."

"Hey," Mac said. She waited for Juliette to look up so she could maintain eye contact with the girl. "What your dad or did not do; that's not your fault. None of it."

Jay looked away. "I was fine by myself," she repeated.

"I know this is a difficult adjustment," Mac told her. "I know you'd rather be by yourself, but staying here means you get warm meals and a bed. You'll have your own room. In exchange, there are house rules."

"What kinds of rules?"

"Some chores. The school year starts in a week, and we have to enroll you. No going out at 11PM by yourself," she added that last one mostly to try and get a smile out of the girl. It sort of worked.

"I guess those aren't so bad."

They sat in silence, eating stale cereal. Mac planned a grocery list in her head, wondering what kinds of foods the girl liked. She was about to ask, when she realized that Jay was staring at her intently.

"What is it?" she asked.

Jay shook her head. She looked away.

"Jay," Mac encouraged gently. "You can ask me anything."

"What happens after?" she asked, afraid and courageous all at once. Mac watched as Jay slipped her armour back on; a metal shield over a soft target.

"I don't know," Mac said honestly. "I won't make you promises or give you assurances I can't keep. We'll have to figure that out once we get there."

"Do you think they'll find him?" She was looking down at her lap now, her voice tiny.

"I know the police are going to try their very best."

She retreated back into her shell, and Mac wanted so badly to draw her out.

"I answered your question," Mac finally said. "Can I ask one of my own?"

"Okay," Jay agreed uncertainly.

"What do your friends really call you?"

"What?" Jay replied, startled. Her eyes went wide.

"No one's ever really called you Jay before, have they." Mac said.

"How did you know I made that up?" she stared at Mac, incredulous.

"I have a built-in lie detector."

The girl frowned, unsure whether to take her seriously.

Mac grinned. "And your eyebrow does this upturn thing when you lie."

Jay deflated. Anxiety filled her gaze. "Are you mad I lied?"

"Of course not," Mac assured. "That's hardly a reason to get mad."

"I didn't want to give a stranger my real name," Jay told her. When she realized that Mac was genuinely not upset, she relaxed. Her tone turned teasing. "Even in exchange for candy."

"Smart girl." Mac smiled. "So: shall I call you Juliette? How about Jules? We can stick with Jay, if you like."

"I like Jules," she replied shyly. "No one's called me that before." Mac found herself charmed. Her heart shifted, slow and lumbering in her chest. Stretching after a deep sleep.

"Then Jules it is."

* * *

Mac watched Jules, who was sitting anxiously on the sofa next to her.

Maureen O'Conner, from Child Services was asking the tough, necessary questions while a Det. Jameson was jotting down notes in his pad.

"Why were you living in a basement the Colonel found you in, Juliette?" Maureen, a middle-aged lady with soft eyes and a straight back, paid little attention to Mac as she spoke. She was focussed on Jules.

"I saw an eviction notice on our apartment door four months ago," Jules replied. She shrugged. She looked so little and lost. "I took my things and left before anyone found out I was living alone in there."

"And that's when you moved to the basement?"

Jules nodded.

"Did you go back to your apartment?"

Jules nodded again. She looked at her hands. "I go once a month. To check if dad has maybe come back."

Mac watched Det. Jameson's jaw clenched in sympathy for the girl, anger at her father.

"He left you money for groceries before he left?" Maureen asked.

"Yeah. Fifty dollars," she replied. "It ran out a month after I left the apartment. I went to subway stations and pretended I didn't have enough money to make the fare. It worked pretty well. I made enough to eat. And the store I went to for food, the owner had some old items he was selling cheap. That helped."

"The Colonel is petitioning the court for custody while the police search for your father," Maureen watched the girl carefully. "How do you feel about staying here?"

Jules inched closer to Mac on the sofa. She shrugged.

Maureen waited. Mac studied Jules, wondering what the girl was thinking.

"If you like," Maureen said, "the Colonel can leave the room so we can talk, just the two of us."

A look of alarm overtook Jules' face. She slid even closer to Mac on the couch.

"No," she said.

"That's fine, Juliette," Maureen soothed. "Mac can stay in the room. Would you like to live with Mac until your father is found?"

Juliette was silent for a long time.

"Since my mom died, no one paid any attention to me," she said. "Except Mac." Her eyes filled with tears that hung stubbornly to her lashes. She looked at Det. Jameson. "You're not going to find my dad," she told him. "He doesn't want me."

"Juliette," Det. Jameson began, looking stricken. "Your fath-"

"It's true," she cut him off. She wiped away the tears from her eyes, and the fight left her. She sniffed. "I want to stay here," she said it quietly, haltingly, as if afraid to voice the wish aloud.

* * *

"There are a lot of vegetables in there," Jules eyed their grocery cart dubiously.

"We're making up for lost time," Mac said, perusing the selection of broccoli in front of her. She should've written down Harm's recipe for vegetarian lasagne when she had the chance, she thought. It had been really tasty, if she remembered correctly, and would be even tastier with some ground beef thrown in. "This is as big a sacrifice for me as it is for you."

Jules wasn't convinced.

"Why don't you pick out some fruit?" Mac suggested.

"Can I get bananas and oranges?"

"Get whatever you want," Mac replied as she tried to figure out what good broccoli was supposed to look like. "Whatever you want from the fruit aisle," she thought to add when she spotted the way Jay's eyes lit up.

The girl frowned. Mac could only grin. "Tell you what, once we're done getting the healthy stuff that's good for the both of us, we can hit the dessert aisle." A much deserved reward, Mac thought, after the difficult session with Child Services and the police.

"Really? I could get chocolate cake?"

"And ice cream."

"You have a deal."

* * *

"That was amazing," Jules said, as they walked out of the planetarium's theatre. She was practically skipping. "The night sky is so pretty."

"It really is," Mac agreed.

"I've never seen so many stars before."

"We could go camping one day," Mac said, drawn in by Jules' enthusiasm.

"Really?"

"Sure. I used to go with my uncle all the time, in Arizona. We used to go looking for ichnites."

"For what?"

"Dinosaur footprints."

Jules stopped walking and stared at Mac, jaw dropped and eyes wide.

Mac laughed. She used a finger to close Jules' jaw. "It's true," she said. "We can go. We have to wait for the sites to open, though, maybe around Memorial weekend?"

"We can go look for dinosaur footprints?"

"It can be a lot of fun."

Jules suddenly shook herself out of her stupor. She shrugged, and tried to look indifferent but Mac could tell the idea really captured her imagination. She wanted to go.

"Maybe," she said. She started to walk away, when Mac stopped her.

"Jules," Mac said. She tried to cup Jules' chin, but the girl moved away, sullen and quiet. "I don't know what's going to happen in the future. If the police will find your dad, if you'll have to go back and live with him or not. I don't want to make you promises I can't keep. But," she continued. "I can promise you that I will take you camping in Arizona next summer. The night sky is gorgeous down there, and I'd like to share it with you."

Jules looked up at Mac, searching her face for the truth. There was so much distrust in there.

"Hey," Mac changed the topic, figuring the girl needed time to process. "What's your opinion on insects?"

"Insects?"

"You can't be afraid of them if you want to camp in the Arizona desert."

"I'm not afraid," she said defiantly, all teenaged pride.

Mac hid her smile.

"Perfect," she said instead. "Because the Natural History Museum has an insect zoo, and they're going to be feeding the tarantulas soon."

Jules' eyes lit up.

"Want to go?"

"Yes," the teen nodded enthusiastically, with a flash of a grin that she was then quick to hide. She schooled her features and shrugged indifferently, looking a bit embarrassed. "I mean, sure."

* * *

"What is it?" Jules asked, looking at the plate in front of her.

"It's supposed to be macaroni casserole," Mac replied. According to the recipe she'd followed, at least. She frowned, staring at her own plate. "I'll admit it looks a bit…"

"Disgusting?" Jules suggested.

Mac couldn't help but laugh. "Well, that's one word for it. Maybe it tastes better than it looks."

"You first," Jules said, eyeing her food dubiously.

The marine stared hard at their supposed dinner. "You know what?" she looked at Jules. "I think we can call tonight's dinner a failed experiment. Let's go get some pizza. Grab your coat."

Jules didn't have to be told twice. A half hour later, they were seated at a cozy Italian place with checkered tablecloths and flickering candle light.

Mac thought of all the half-veggie, half-meat pizzas she used to order from here when she and Harm worked from her place. She and Jules had ordered a meat-only pizza, and a salad that Mac had insisted Jules eat. Harm would've been proud of her, she thought.

"Did you mean what you said?"

Mac looked up at Jules' question. The girl was playing with her napkin, twisting it over and over with her fingers.

"What I said?" Mac asked.

"About going camping. Seeing the stars and hunting for dinosaur tracks."

"I did," Mac said. Jules didn't reply, and Mac bit back a sigh. "Jules," she said, "I know it's hard for you to believe me. All I ask is that you give this, give us a chance."

Jules was silent for a few moments.

"What happened to your dad?" she asked Mac. She kept winding and unwinding her napkin between her fingers.

"He died a few years ago," Mac replied. She looked down at her hands. So many years, and still the scene was raw. "I didn't see him once I left home and joined the Marines. I was too mad at him for all he'd done."

"You never saw him again?" she asked in surprise. She was observing Mac intently now, her napkin forgotten.

"I went to visit him when he was dying, at his hospice. I didn't want to, but," Mac shrugged. "I went. I think a part of me wanted to confront him, to tell him how much hurt he'd caused me, to prove how far I'd come without him."

"Did you?" Jules asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"By the time I got there," Mac said, "it was too late."

There were tears in Jules' eyes. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Hey," Mac reassured her. "It's okay. I learned a lot when I went to visit him; about myself and about him. I blamed him for all the things he'd done and I spent so much time being angry, but the truth was that he tried his best. His best just wasn't enough."

"So you forgave him?"

"Forgiveness is such a big word," Mac answered. She stared into the flickering candle. "I'd say I reached an understanding. It helped to know where he was coming from, why he did what he did, why he couldn't give me what I wanted; what I needed."

Jules let out a long, slow breath. Mac wondered if what she'd said was helping the girl in any way.

"You said your mom left," Jules said. "Did she ever come back?"

"She went to see my dad at the hospice, too," Mac answered. "I saw here there."

"What happened?" Jules asked.

This was the part Mac still had so much difficulty talking about. The part she hadn't really spoken with anyone else about, before. She took a long, slow breath.

"I realized that my mom, well, she tried her best, too. And like with my dad, it wasn't enough. Maybe I had spent so much time being angry at my dad, I didn't let myself admit that my mom had made a choice when she left us. When she left me."

Tears came to Jules' eyes. "It hurts," she whispered. "Sometimes, it hurts a lot."

"I know, sweetheart," Mac replied. She felt herself tear up at the girl's pain. "I know it does."

"Where's your mom now?" Jules asked, wiping away the tear stains on her cheeks.

"I don't know," Mac replied honestly. "She didn't keep in touch."

This brought fresh tears to Jules' eyes.

"I don't want to be alone," Jules said. She sobbed. Mac stood up from her chair and drew Jules into a tight hug, ignoring the curious and concerned stares she was receiving from other patrons.

"I'm right here," Mac told the girl. "I promise." She put her hands on Jules' shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Even though I couldn't cook us dinner to save my life," she teased, trying for some humour.

Jules gave her a watery smile for her efforts. The tips of her ears were quick to turn red, though, as she realized the attention she was getting from the people in the restaurant.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I'm embarrassing you."

"Not at all," Mac grinned. "Wait until the pizza comes, the pepperoni here is so good, it'll have you crying again."

Jules smiled genuinely at that. She searched Mac's face for a moment, and then looked down at her shoes. She bit her lip.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

Mac slid her fingers through Jules' hair. "Anytime," she said. "Anytime."

* * *

"The school looked nice," Jules said, watching Mac as she rifled through a rack of shirts at the clothing store they were in. All of the teen's clothes were too worn to be considered acceptable by Mac's standards. By most standards, really.

"It did, didn't it?" Mac agreed.

"It was big."

Mac glanced over at Jules. The girl was too busy to notice Mac's appraising glance.

"It'll be your first year in high school," Mac said. They still had to buy school supplies, before the academic year officially launched. Mac made yet another mental list.

"Yeah," the girl nodded. "I think it's a good thing."

"Why's that?"

"Because." Jules shrugged. She then changed the topic. "The principal we met this morning said I have to take the test before they let me into the high school."

"Only because you missed a lot of your last year of school." Mac assured the girl. It hung unsaid between them that Jules had missed a lot of school due to her mother's illness and death.

"You're smart," Mac continued. "The test isn't for another week, and we're going to work hard on preparing it."

"You think I'll pass it?"

"With flying colours, kid." Mac noted that Jules still looked thoughtful. "What are you thinking, Jules?"

"Everyone at my old school knew about my mom and my dad," she said after a long silence.

Mac put away the shirt she was holding and focused her attention on the girl.

"They sort of felt bad for me. Some made fun." she picked at a loose thread on one of the sweaters hanging on the rack in front of her. She shrugged. "Here, no one will know who I am. Maybe it'll be better?" She looked up hopefully at Mac.

For all she'd been through, Mac sometimes forgot Jules was just a child with everyday insecurities. Everyday insecurities made worse by her father's behaviour.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Jules," Mac said, meaning every word. "You're remarkable."

Jules flushed, from the tips of ears to her neck. But she shrugged, as though the words didn't mean much of anything. Mac slid her fingers through the soft strands of Jules' hair.

"It's okay to be a bit nervous," Mac said. "I still get butterflies in my stomach before I walk into court, and I've been doing that for years."

"Did you have friends in high school?" she asked.

"Not the good kind," Mac replied truthfully.

"That doesn't sound very promising."

"You're way smarter than I ever was," Mac assured her.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Is it working?"

Jules was quiet for a moment. "Maybe a little, actually."

"Good."

Jules went back to rifling through the sweaters in front of her. A very purple one caught the girl's eye.

"Oh," she said. "That's pretty."

"Let's get it in your size, then," Mac said. "You can try it on for fit."

"No," Jules hedged, closing up once again. Retreating. "It's okay."

Mac hid a frown, worried and to be perfectly honest a bit whiplashed by the abrupt shifts in Jules' moods today.

"How about we take a break?" Mac offered. "Let's get some hot chocolate. It's been a long morning. We can finish shopping later."

"If you want," Jules agreed, but Mac didn't miss the gratitude in her expression.

* * *

"Colonel MacKenzie?"

"Speaking," Mac said into the telephone receiver.

"This is Detective Jameson from the 2nd Police District, returning your call."

"Det. Jameson," Mac greeted. "I was just calling for an update. Have you located David Spencer?"

"Not yet, Colonel," the detective replied. "The case is still a top-priority at the precinct, and we have a team of four working the case."

"Any leads?"

"Afraid not. We thought we had a sighting in Virginia, but it was a false ID. Our M.E. is comparing Spencer's medical records with the John Does in the morgue, but five months is a long time to cover and we don't have any dental records to go on."

"Thanks for returning my call, Det. Jameson. I appreciate it."

"I'll keep you in the loop, Colonel. You have my word." He paused. "How's Juliette doing?"

"Adjusting," Mac replied. "She's doing well given all she's been through."

"If we find that guy alive," Jameson said, "I don't know how I'll keep from slugging him for all the pain he's caused."

You and me both, Mac thought. She didn't say it aloud though.

"Take care, Colonel."

"Thank you, Detective."

Mac hung up the phone and wandered into the kitchen, where Jules was hard at work preparing for her high school qualifying test.

"Hey, Jules," she said.

"Hm?"

"Have you ever been to the dentist's?"

The teen looked up. She shook her head.

"I'll make an appointment," Mac said.

Jules dropped her head heavily onto the table. She groaned. "You're on a power trip with this guardian thing."

"And enjoying every minute of it," Mac threw over her shoulder as she headed into the living room, already dialing the dentist's phone number.

* * *

"So," Jules said, as they sat on Mac's couch. She picked at the tassels on one of the plush cushions. "You go back to work tomorrow."

"And you start high school."

Jules grinned, but it was a restrained version of her usual.

"Excited, huh?"

"It'll be nice to go where no one knows me," she said, and then sighed heavily.

"What is it?"

Jules searched Mac's face. "This is all going to end one day, isn't? I'll have to go back to my old school and my old life and…"

"Hey, come here," Mac tugged Jules into her side. "No matter what happens," she said, "I promise I will always be a part of your life. However you want, any time you need."

Jules slowly wrapped her arms around Mac's waist. It was the first time the girl had reciprocated any affection.

"I like it here," she mumbled. "It's like a dream."

"I like having you here," Mac said. Jules made her feel like she'd regained some footing in reality after being dissociated from it for so long.

"I don't want it to go back to before," Jules said.

Mac didn't know what to say, so she just held on to Jules more tightly.

* * *

"You'll love it," Mac assured the anxious teen sitting next to her, in the passenger seat of her Corvette.

Jules looked around at the expansive high school grounds, at the shrieking teens, and the overwhelming whirl of activity.

"It's quite different from my quiet basement," she finally said.

Mac found herself laughing. "Kid, wait until you hit study hall. It'll be like being right back in that basement."

Jules grinned at her temporary guardian. "Wish me luck?"

"You don't need luck," Mac replied. "But just in case, I have may have snuck a piece of chocolate cake in your lunch."

"Really?" Jules' expression lit up.

"Yep." Mac grinned. "I've gotten pretty good at this guardian thing, haven't I?"

"The cooking still needs work," Jules teased.

"Alright, smart alec," Mac said, shaking her head in amusement. "Go on. Get out there."

"Bye, Mac," Jules said as she stepped out of the car.

"Have fun, Jules. I'll be here to pick you up when school lets out."

Mac watched as Jules shut the door behind her. A gaggle of boys and girls stopped and stared at the Corvette. One stepped up to Jules.

"Awesome ride," he said.

"Thanks," Jules replied. Mac could hear her nerves. She hesitated, her hand on the gearshift. Maybe it was too soon…

"My name's Jake. This is Lucy," he pointed to one of the girls in the group. He went around introducing her to each of the kids standing around him. Liz. Aaron. Suzy. Jules looked overwhelmed, but the grin she was wearing threatened to split her face in two.

Mac found herself grinning too and, just for good measure, let her engine rumble deliciously before she drove off.

* * *

Mac walked into JAG after a week away, and wondered at the change in her disposition. She felt … happier.

The thought caught her by surprise. There was a definite spring in her step. There was more sunlight than usual in the JAG offices, spilling through the windows in bright streaks. She grinned at anyone she crossed in the hallway and in the bullpen.

"Colonel," Bud said as she entered the break room. "Morning, Ma'am."

"Morning, Bud," she greeted cheerily. She poured herself a steaming cup of coffee. She had no doubt that after a week of leave, the paperwork on her desk had reached Everest-like proportions. The thought didn't even faze her.

Bud stared gape-jawed at her wide grin and general air of happiness, before catching himself. "The Admiral said you had a family emergency. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's great, Bud." She turned to head out of the break room and conquer that pile of paperwork. She had no doubt the Admiral had probably added whatever he could find to it, just to make a point.

"So, uh, you heard?" Bud said.

"Heard what?" Mac paused in her exit.

"Well, um, I assumed you were smiling because you knew…"

"Spit it out, Bud," she said, her tone holding only curiosity.

"The Commander's back."

At Mac's blank stare, he elaborated: "Commander Rabb."

Mac suddenly felt the keen need to sit down. "The Commander is back?" She glanced towards his old office.

"Oh, he's not in his old office, Ma'am. He's down the hall. The old supply closet."

"Supply closet?" Mac repeated. Was this a joke.

"The Admiral couldn't handle the backlog, what with Imes not really being a lawyer, and us already being short a senior attorney, and then you took leave…"

So the Admiral went hat in hand to Harm? The sheer idea of it seemed so preposterous to Mac, she couldn't wrap her mind around it.

Bud cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I thought you knew. I'd assumed that's why you were so...happy this morning."

Mac cleared her throat. "I'll be in my office if I'm needed," she told him. "I have a lot to catch up on."

She thought of facing off against him in court again. The prospect of it brought many feelings to the surface, too many to untangle. She wondered how long she would last before the inevitable run-in with him.

She didn't last very long at all, as it turned out. She walked out of the break room, and right into Harm's tall form. Solid reflexes and the grace of God were all that kept her from spilling her coffee all over his pressed whites.

"Colonel," he said, his tone cool and collected. He looked … good. Slightly tanned. He'd bulked up a bit, solid and muscular. He was just as tall, she thought inanely. The blue of his eyes held no warmth.

"Commander," she replied, anything but cool and collected.

"Sir, Ma'am."

They both turned at the sound of Coates' voice.

"The Admiral would like to see you in his office."

"Thank you, Petty Officer," Mac replied, relieved at the interruption. The anger in him was so close to the surface that any respite, some distance, was welcome. "I'll just set this cup down in my office."

"Yes, Ma'am," Coates replied. Harm remained silent, but she felt his chilly stare as she walked to her office.

* * *

"At ease," the Admiral told them from across his desk. "Have a seat."

They both sat down, as ordered.

Mac worked very hard not to look at Harm. She hadn't seen him in ... well, she knew exactly how much time it had been, right down to the seconds, but that didn't mean she would admit it to herself.

"I trust your family emergency was resolved satisfactorily?" the Admiral asked her.

In her peripheral vision, she watched Harm perk up at hearing this information.

"More or less, Sir," she replied. "If I could have a minute of your time after this meeting."

"Granted," he said, but not very happily, before he turned his attention to the business of the day. "Colonel, Commander, I'm teaming you two up to review all of Imes' cases. Commanders Turner and Roberts will be taking lead on all new cases until you finish your assignment."

So they were both in the doghouse, Mac thought. On the one hand, reviewing old cases meant she wouldn't be travelling much of anywhere in the near future. She could focus her attention on Jules. On the other hand...she didn't dare look in Harm's direction.

"You can set up in the conference room. Rabb, you can brief the Colonel on what she's missed out on so far." He turned to Mac. "Colonel, I am sure you can find time to catch up on your Chief of Staff duties?"

"Yes, Sir."

The Admiral's already stern gaze turned even more stern. He looked from her to the Commander.

"I trust you two can behave like professionals." It was not a question.

"Yes, Sir," they answered in unison.

"Commander, you're dismissed."

"Aye, Sir." Rabb stood up. He left the office without a backward glance.

The Admiral focused his full attention on her. In another world, in another time, his assessing gaze would not have been so hard and unyielding.

"You wanted to speak with me, Colonel?"

"Sir. I've been granted temporary custody of a teenaged girl-"

"She's family?" the Admiral interrupted, his interest piqued.

"She is family now, Sir."

The Admiral frowned, clearly not sure what to do with that answer.

"The police are currently searching for her father," Mac continued. "Her mother passed away last year."

"What happened to her father?"

"Unknown, Sir. He could be dead, he could … have left."

The Admiral cocked his head to the side, watching her with the penetrating stare he'd mastered somewhere along the way.

"How long will you have custody of the child?"

"Until they find her father."

"And if they don't?"

Mac didn't know the answer to that.

The Admiral leaned forward in his chair. "Mac," he said, "what's happening here?"

"She has no one, Admiral."

"Is this about her, or is this about you?"

"It's about second chances, Sir."

He raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"For both us," she acknowledged. She held his gaze sure and steady. It took two beats, but he softened. Or he gave up. She couldn't tell.

"I don't expect you'll be traveling much in the next little while," he said. "Imes left quite the mess behind. You'll have your hands full cleaning it up."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Dismissed."

Mac stood up.

"Colonel."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Rescuing another isn't the same as rescuing ourselves." At her silence, he gave her a pointed look. "Someone else in this office learned that lesson recently." He didn't wait for her reply. "You're dismissed," he said.

She turned sharply on her heel and left.

* * *

Mac sat across from Harm in the conference room. A large expanse of polished oak separated them. Its gleaming wood littered with files and legal pads and open volumes. Case boxes were stacked neatly on the floor around them; a makeshift fortress of cardboard containers that held the weight of the law and precedent and the hallowed search for justice. Cardboard containers that also held the work of a woman who'd lied about passing the bar.

They'd been working in silence since morning. He'd stepped out for lunch with Bud and Sturgis, while she'd worked through with a ham sandwich and a cold cup of coffee. She wanted to make sure she was able to leave work with ample time to pick up Jules. Mac wanted to be there for the girl, at least for the first week of school, even if the high school was within walking distance of their apartment.

It was about making a point to the girl; proving herself.

Her pen scratched lightly against paper as she took notes. Harm flipped a page, the sound a sharp break in the otherwise oppressive silence.

She shifted uneasily in her chair. His brow tightened at the rustle of her uniform fabric against the upholstery.

Anger came off him in waves. Anger, disappointment, stubborn righteousness. They rolled onto the table, over the files and legal pads between them, and pushed against her feigned wall of impassivity. Searched for any crack in her armour. She wouldn't give him the pleasure of finding one.

Finally, her internal clock told her it was time to go. Strange thing about that clock of hers: she could mark each passing second, knew exactly how long she had been sitting here. The exact, objective, quantifiable measure of time that had slipped by. And yet this felt like the longest day of her life.

She capped her pen. Made a neat pile of her notes. Closed the volumes she would no longer need; marked the pages in the books she would have to return to. Mac cleared her throat. She stood.

"Well. Bye," she told him, mostly out of courtesy.

He stopped reading the file in front of him. His eyes flicked up to hers. One eyebrow quirked. It too early for quitting time, by her usual standards. They both knew that.

She didn't need to give him an explanation. She pushed her chair back and headed for the exit.

"Hot date with the spook." The snark in his tone could be heard from space.

She didn't bother answering.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you all for your reviews. Some of you post such thoughtful and inspiring comments, that I find myself improving and refining this story based off of them. Some of you post comments that sound vaguely threatening and frankly a bit scary! Let me say, then, that I'm not about making Harm a jerk or making Mac callous. They're both human beings who do human things.

In this story, I'm taking a slow, unfurling approach to H&M's relationship. It's not like everything will be cleared up and they'll let go of their hurt feeling immediately, and it's not like they don't care deeply for each other. How they navigate these conflicting emotions is what the story tells.

Also, this chapter is quite long. Apologies. Couldn't break it any differently. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"Volleyball team tryouts are on Friday. Liz is going to try out and she said maybe I could, too. Do you think I should?"

Mac opened her mouth to answer, but Jules plowed through.

"Oh, and Lucy's my lab partner in bio! She asked Mr. Jenkins if she could be my partner. No one wanted to be my partner at my old school. And we're going to dissect a real frog! Cool, right? My old school didn't let the older kids dissect their own frogs, they had to watch the teacher do it. I guess there weren't enough frogs to go around? Did you ever dissect a frog?"

To Mac's surprise, Jules actually stopped talking and looked to her for an answer. It was the first time since she'd picked Jules up that the girl had actually given her an opportunity to get a word in edgewise. She'd clearly had an eventful and exciting first day of high school.

"Nope," Mac said. "I did dissect a rat in high school, though." She and Eddie had scooped up as many of the innards as they could during the dissection, wrapped them in layers of paper towels, and put them on top of Brock Campbell's locker. Righteous retribution for throwing Eddie's gym clothes in the boys' changing room toilets. It had taken the school a week to locate the source of the god-awful smell emanating from the jock's locker, and even then his corner of the hallway stunk for weeks to come. Brock took to spraying cologne to mask it. Cologne by the gallon. The memory still made Mac grin.

"That is so cool!" Jules exclaimed. "Maybe we'll get a rat next semester."

"Maybe you will. If not, the science museum sometimes has cow eyes available for dissection. We could check it out." She glanced over at Jules. "It's no rat, but..."

"Wow," Jules looked at her in awe. "That would so awesome."

"Do you have any homework?"

The girl's mood immediately dipped. "Yeah." She sighed. "English and math and biology. We're reading _To Kill a Mockingbird_ in English. Have you read it?"

"I have. I really enjoyed it." Mac paused, realizing for the first time just how many of the little things she didn't know about Jules. "Do you like reading?"

Jules nodded enthusiastically. "I love reading. Mom used to take me to the library every week before..." she trailed off. She shrugged. "Well, before."

"We can get you a library card, if you like?" Mac suggested. "There's a library a few blocks from our place. Walking distance."

"Really? That close?"

"I haven't given you a proper tour of the neighbourhood, have !?" Mac had taken Jules all around the city, to museums and memorials and any point of interest she could think of. She hadn't, however, thought of exploring her own neighbourhood with the kid. "How about we take a walk after dinner, once you're done with your homework."

"Pizza for dinner?" Jules asked hopefully.

Mac grinned. "Nice try. How about pizza on Friday? I was thinking of trying to make meatloaf tonight."

"Have you made meatloaf before?"

"Never before."

"You didn't cook much before I came along, did you?"

"Rarely turned on the oven," Mac said easily. "You're the lucky person who gets to sample all my kitchen experimentation."

Jules, to her credit, tried not to look too chagrined.

"Now you know what that frog feels like, kid," Mac teased.

Jules laughed. "As long as you don't feed me frog."

"Keep making fun of my cooking and I just might."

* * *

The next morning, after dropping Jules off at school, Mac made a quick stop at the Roberts' house and updated Harriet on her situation.

"She was living in a basement?" Harriet asked, aghast. "That poor thing. And her father! Oh, dear."

Mac waited for Harriet to process.

"And you're her guardian?"

"At least until her father is located."

"And then?"

Mac shrugged. She still didn't know the answer to that question. She didn't want to think about an answer. Jules' chatter filled her kitchen and her apartment and other long darkened, empty parts of her life.

"You're doing the right thing, Mac."

"I think you may be the first person to tell me that," Mac replied.

Harriet let out a surprised laugh. "The Admiral?"

"I think he's given up on me," Mac said, only half-joking. She grinned despite herself. What a situation she'd thrown herself into. "But I won't be travelling anywhere on assignment for the next little while."

"And after that?"

Again, Mac shrugged.

"If there's any way Bud and I can help, we're more than happy to," she offered.

"Thank you, Harriet."

"How about you and Jules come over for dinner on Saturday night? AJ would love to meet his godmother's ward."

"Harriet, I couldn't possibly impose. You have a lot going on-"

"I insist, Mac," Harriet leaned forward eagerly. "You and I, we haven't spoken, really spoken in so long. Frankly," Harriett shrugged, self-deprecating and wry, "I need real company, anything other than tiny children and my husband. As much as I love them."

Mac grinned. "Far be it from to deprive you. Dinner on Saturday it is."

* * *

Mac sat at the conference room table, across from Harm. It had been two days now of working together without actually working together. Sharing a room in silence. She hadn't been brave enough to attempt a real conversation.

This second day was nearing a close, but not soon enough for Mac. Her coffee cold and the silence suddenly too oppressive, she stood up to freshen her cup and stretch her legs. Her eyes flicked to Harm, who was bent in concentration, reading a file. She studied the profile of his face, the strong curve of his cheek and the clean-shaven line of his jaw. He looked up suddenly, and caught her stare.

Mac cleared her throat. She looked away quickly, but then forced herself to meet his eye.

"I'm going to get some more coffee," she said. Her voice sounded too loud and sharp in the echoing silence of the room. "Can I get you anything?"

He looked at her for a barely a second, before turning his attention back to the file in front of him.

Mac bit back a sigh and went to the break room to get more coffee. She couldn't decide if she was angry, fed up, or frustrated with him. A conversation, she thought. Clearing the air. That's what they needed to do. Would he really punish her like this forever?

She filled two cups with coffee, put sugar and milk in Harm's just the way he used to like it. Armed with what was either a peace offering or a challenge-Mac wasn't sure what point she was trying to make with the coffee-she returned to the conference room.

In silence, she put his cup down in front of him and then made a concerted effort not to look at him. Instead, she went back to work.

An hour later, he inner clock told her it was time to call it a day. She cleaned up her workspace, and stood up ready to leave. That was when she realized that Harm was observing her. She couldn't read his expression, but the intensity in his eyes was unmistakable.

She got caught up in his gaze, and he didn't look away. Mac felt herself flush under his scrutiny.

Maybe this was their opening, she thought. She searched for her courage, hoping to initiate the conversation they so clearly needed to have, when she noticed that his cup of coffee lay exactly where she had put it an hour ago. Untouched.

The sudden sense of purpose that had filled her a moment ago fled just as quickly, deflating her.

She left without saying goodbye.

* * *

That Friday, Mac set next to Jules in a darkened cinema hall. The two of them were armed with popcorn and candy and soda. Jules was as happy as a clam. They were watching a computer animated film that had been breaking all kinds of box office records.

Mac supposed it was a good movie, but she'd been unable to pay attention to the screen.

She could not stop thinking about her week at work, sitting across from an obstinately silent Harm. The silence, she could get used to, she supposed. What really threw her off was that, as the days had passed, she'd increasingly caught Harm staring at her. Whenever she'd looked up and caught him at it, he'd looked away. She didn't know what to make of it, but she did know that she didn't want to give his behaviour too much thought.

Her solution had been to just start pretending she didn't notice every time he fixed his gaze on her.

So much for hardening her useless heart, Mac thought. So much for that.

She turned to watch Jules, the play of light over her face. Jules smiled and laughed and cringed and just genuinely immersed herself wholeheartedly in the delight of being entertained. Mac found herself grinning. It was rare to catch Jules this unguarded. She banished away thoughts of Harm and all the complicatedness he brought with him. The simple pleasures of a good movie and the promise of pizza for dinner deserved her full attention, and she readily gave it.

* * *

They fell into a smooth schedule over the next two weeks, she and Jules. Jules got her library card, and Mac often caught her reading a borrowed book when she should have been doing her math homework. On the weekend, Mac would take Jules to various sites in DC, places the girls had not seen outside of school trips or books. On weekdays, they'd have breakfast together, and Mac would pack Jules lunch while the kid finished off whichever homework assignment she'd invariably forgotten she was supposed to do the night before. When Jules had volleyball practice, Mac would drop her off to school on the way to work. Morning without practice, Mac would head to work and Jules would walk herself to school when the time came. Some days, when she didn't have too much homework, Mac and Jules would go to the Roberts', and take a very smitten little AJ to the park to play. Sometimes, Harriet came with them, pushing Jimmy along in his stroller.

"Any word on her father?" she asked Mac on one such afternoon.

"None," she replied. "The detectives have put out a BOLO in neighbouring states. The M.E. is looking at autopsies for John Does outside the DC police districts, too. So far, nothing."

"Maybe he really took advantage of that five month head start."

"Maybe."

"I can't imagine a parent abandoning their child. And she's such a sweet girl."

Mac didn't say anything. What could she say to that.

"How is Juliette handling everything?"

"She won't talk about it. I don't think she believes me when I say I'm in this for the long haul. She's not about to open up to another adult she thinks she'll lose."

"And her friends at school?"

"They don't have a clue." Mac sighed. "I think she's letting them believe I'm her mom. She goes to their homes to hang out, but she won't invite them over to our place. It's only been a month, though..." she trailed off. She hoped for so much for the young girl, but she knew the road would not be an easy one.

Harriett adjusted Jimmy in his stroller as he babbled contentedly. Mac watched the play of emotion over the younger woman's face. The empathy and the hurt for the teenaged girl who was currently happily playing hide-and-seek with little AJ.

"Your help, yours and Bud's, has been invaluable, Harriet," she told her friend.

"I wish we could do more for her."

"Me, too," Mac said. "But this is a road she has to walk herself. Letting her babysit AJ has gone a long way to improving her self-esteem."

"She's blossoming, isn't she?" Harriet agreed.

"She is," Mac acknowledged. And yet. "I'm waiting for the meltdown, for it to all come bubbling to the surface. She's handling this all far too well."

They both watched Jules as she pretended to search for the little boy who was very obviously hiding inside the tubular slide.

"How are you doing, Mac?"

She looked at Harriet, startled by the question. No one had asked her that in a very, very long time.

She thought of Harm, his frigid silence as he sat across from her in the conference room. No words, no acknowledgment. She'd brought him a fresh cup of coffee a few more times over the past two weeks, when she'd gone to top up her own cup. He hadn't touched any of them. And yet he kept watching her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She thought of the silence she was getting from Clay. She hadn't reached out to him, not once, and hadn't even wanted to. His was a welcome silence, but one that made her feel just a little guilty.

She still woke up some nights in a cold sweat, images of martyred missionaries and firebrand terrorists looming large in the shadows of her bedroom. The sounds of Clay's screams, and Harm's silence kept her from going back to sleep.

Jules' laughter carried over the cool fall winds, and Mac turned to watch the girl chase AJ around the slide.

"Better than I have been in a while," she finally replied.

It wasn't saying much, but it was more than she'd imagined herself capable of.

* * *

The following Monday, she and Harm were down to their last stack of case files under review. The last day of sitting across from him, in a stony silence.

It was better that this misery be over, she told herself.

Still, it felt like another ending, another missed opportunity. Saying goodbye once again, without saying anything at all.

How much more could she say to him? Not much, she convinced herself. She'd left so many unanswered messages on his machine, back when he worked for the CIA. And now, the sound of her voice alone, her presence seemed to set him on edge. He needed space, still, and time. Maybe one day-

"Ma'am?" Coates popped her head into the conference room. "There's a phone call for you. It's urgent.".

Mac stood immediately, Jules firmly at the forefront of her thoughts. Maybe it wasn't about her. Before she could ask, Coates said, "It's from Detective Jameson."

Her breaths were suddenly hard to come by. The loud, painful thumps in her chest reverberated in her skull.

"I transferred the call through to the phone, Ma'am," Coates indicated the telephone receiver in the corner of the room.

Mac walked over to the receiver slowly, each step measured, delaying the news she would have to hear. Her hands shook as she pressed the button to connect the line. She remembered walking into that too-hot, rundown convenience store and finding it empty, no sign of the girl.

"Colonel MacKenzie," she said, surprised at how even her voice sounded. Clear and solid, even as she felt the floor beneath her shift and tremble.

"Colonel, this is Detective Jameson." There was the slightest of pauses. "We found him."

* * *

"Mac?"

_We found his body._

She looked from the receiver in her hand to Harm.

_In Indiana. He had no wallet, no ID. We think it was a mugging.  
_

"Are you okay?" He looked from her to the receiver, which was beeping to indicate a disconnected line. Det. Jameson had hung up already. 18 seconds ago. She put the phone down.

_David Spencer had been working at a steel factory in a small town. He had regular hours and a steady paycheque. Rented a bedroom. Spent most of his time at the local bar after work._

"You should sit down," he said, reaching for her arm.

_I'm sorry, Colonel. It looks like he left his daughter, and he had no plans of going back._

"No," she said. Her voice shook. "No," she said again, more strongly. She forced herself to look at Harm. "I'm fine."

"Is…" he hesitated. His hand dropped to his side. There was regret in his eyes. Concern. Sadness. She could see it now. He'd hidden it so well behind the wall of anger. "Is it Webb?"

"Who?" she said dumbly, for a moment completely lost.

"Is Webb okay?"

"I wouldn't know," she said. She gestured aimlessly towards the phone. "That wasn't about Clay."

She needed to tell Jules the news.

"Maybe you should sit down, Mac. You look like you just got some really bad news."

She looked up to see the concern in Harm's gaze. His eyes and his voice were soft and kind and too much.

"You can stop," she told him, suddenly upset. She was furious with David Spencer for abandoning his daughter, incensed with Harm for being nice after three weeks of being cold and sometimes mean; for talking to her with such care after months of ignoring her.

He was taken aback.

"Stop what?"

"Dammit, Harm." She took a deep breath to try and level her mounting fury. Harm was available; Spencer was her real target. Spencer and the unfairness of the world. She took another deep breath, and this one seemed to help calm her down a little: "Stop being so nice. Stop feeling bad for me."

"Mac-"

"You don't need to pretend to care," she said, suddenly tired. She sat down on the nearest chair. The fight in her left as swiftly as it came. "I'm fine. Just stop."

"Mac," he said, sounding helpless and frustrated. Mostly frustrated. "I'm not pretending. I've never pretended."

"I left messages on your machine." She felt detached from her words, an observer watching someone else throw stones at the man in front of her. "Seventeen of them." Accusation was clear in her voice.

His expression hardened.

"I was busy." The anger in him was back, could feel it in the sharp slice of his words, in the careless shrug of his shoulder. "You know how it is.," he said. "Work. Life."

So cavalier, she thought. She remembered this part of him from the taxi stand down in Paraguay.

"Yeah," she replied. "I guess I do."

"You told me 'never'," he continued, challenge in his eyes. "I took you at your word."

Defeat wove itself into her bones. She knew now, she thought, where she stood with him. In plain English.

Her thoughts went to Juliette. It wasn't even noon, yet. The kid was dissecting her much-anticipated frog in biology today. She would tell Juliette after school, Mac decided. No point in disrupting her day. Jules was going to have a tough few weeks ahead of her. A tough few months.

"We should get back to work," Harm said, cutting into her thoughts. He hesitated. "If you need to head out," he said it reluctantly, "I can cover for you."

It was a generous offer, an unexpected one. It caught her off guard.

"I'm sorry," she said, ashamed, "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"Just now," he inquired, "or a few months back?"

She startled, unsure if he was serious or if he was kidding.

"I'm sorry, too," he said after a long, painful pause. His eyes fixed on hers. He sighed. "About a lot of things."

"You were angry," she offered. She remembered the sounds of Clay's screams, of two gunshots ringing out in the stuffy, too-humid jungle air, of the car battery charging in that shed. Harm breaking in through the door. She thought of the words she would never hear him say. "I understand."

He was watching, silent, enigmatic.

"What?" she asked.

He tilted his chin towards the phone. "Do you need to head out?"

She shook her head. He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push.

Mac moved back to her own chair, and tried to focus on the file in front of her. Last stack, she reminded herself, but she couldn't concentrate. She fiddled with her pen, tapped her fingers against her chin.

"It's about my ward," she found herself saying.

Harm looked up from his file, confusion etched on his brow.

"Your...ward?" he repeated.

"Jules," she said. "Juliette. She's fourteen. I have temporary custody." Even as she said it, her resolve took shape and hardened. She would apply for full custody. Tooth and nail, she'd fight to get it done. Whatever it took. She'd have to figure out a way to balance out-of-town assignments with Jules' needs and with her own responsibility for the girl.

He closed the file he was reading, and capped his pen. He gave her his full attention. She studied his face, looking for any sign of judgment, of censure or criticism. She found, instead, curiosity and concern. Some confusion.

The story spilled out of her. The convenience store and its stoic clerk. Subsidizing groceries and sharing donuts. Following the girl to a dark basement and having cheeseburgers at a diner. The sick mother and the missing, abusive father. The new school and volleyball games where Mac sat on hard bleachers and cheered as Jules hit a perfect serve. Trips to the museum and playing at the park with AJ. Struggling to feed the kid.

"She hates my cooking," Mac said. "Can't say I blame her," she continued. "I'm not a huge fan of it, either."

Harm smiled. "Your microwave must feel quite neglected."

She found herself smiling, too. "The first time we went grocery shopping and I tried to figure out how exactly I was supposed to know which bunch of broccoli was ripe enough to eat, I kept thinking that I should have gotten your lasagne recipe while I had the chance."

He was still grinning, but something in his eyes turned serious. "You never lost the chance, Mac."

She studied him. She didn't believe that she hadn't ever lost the chance-the silence that had laid siege to the conference room for three weeks was too fresh in her memory-but she thought maybe they could rebuild something between them. Find that chance again.

He cleared his throat. He looked away and the moment broke apart, slipped away from them.

"I'd like to meet her," he looked at her again and then away. Doubting, perhaps, that she would agree. "I could make us a nutritious dinner, if you want…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"I can't promise you'll win her over with a healthy dinner," she said, smiling at him.

"I remember a certain Marine who quite enjoyed my homemade dinners," he teased.

Mac felt her face heat up.

"The phone call; it was about her?" he asked.

"The police found her father."

"Is he…?" he trailed off, watching her expectantly.

"No," she shook her head. "They found his body in Indiana."

His face fell, and they shared in Juliette's pain.

"So he did leave her."

"All alone," she said. She didn't how she'd break the news to Jules. They'd gotten so far in the last month, she and the girl.

He took her hand in his. It was such a strange thing to feel his touch after so much absence. His warm, calloused palm. The long fingers. The way his eyes looked into hers. She felt her pulse pick up, felt the jolt, the spark. From struggling to feel any connection, any emotion, her system was now in overdrive. She was making up for lost time, it seemed, between the girl who'd slowly, steadily, unexpectedly built a home in her heart, and the man who'd had a home there for years.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"You're doing it," she answered.

* * *

Juliette had been watching her anxiously throughout dinner. Mac had been preoccupied and anxious, so it was no surprise that the teen had picked up on her mood. It was time, Mac thought, to take the bull by the horns.

"Hey," she said to Jules, the remnants of their meal scattered about the table. "Let's leave the dishes for later."

"Okay, now I know something's wrong," Jules tried to joke, but it fell flat. She looked so nervous and afraid.

Mac took her by the hand and led her to the couch.

"Jules," she began.

"It's about my dad, isn't it?" she cut in, her voice shaking.

"Detective Jameson called today," Mac said, watching the girl, trying to convey comfort and support.

"They found him?"

"The Indiana State Police found him. I'm sorry, honey, he was in a mugging that turned violent. He didn't make it."

Jules' eyes widened. She opened her mouth, and then closed it. She sniffed. One tear escaped, and then another and then it was a silent, steady stream. Mac wrapped her arms around the girl, and held her for a good long while.

Jules' tears stemmed, little by little. "I guess I have to go now?" she said in a tiny voice.

Mac looked to at the girl. "What? Jules, no. You don't have to go anywhere."

Jules shifted out of Mac's hug. "You said that I could stay with you until they found my dad…" she trailed off, insecurity colouring every uncertain inflection.

"Sweetheart." Mac took the girl's hands in her own. "I spoke with Child Services about the possibility of petitioning the court for permanent guardianship over you."

Jules' eyes widened in disbelief. "Really?"

Mac nodded.

"You," she hesitated, tasted the words in her mouth before she said them aloud. "You want me? To stay?"

"I do," Mac said. She couldn't stop her smile. "I like having you around, Jules. You being a lot of joy into my life. Even if you rag my cooking."

Jules smiled, a soft, tentative thing. "So I can stay?".

"Child Services will support my petition. But," Mac qualified, at the sudden hope that bloomed on Jules' face, "it's up to the courts. I can promise you, though, that I will do everything I can do make sure that whatever happens, it's the best for you."

"Oh," Jules said. She searched Mac's face, "if I tell the court I like it here, with you, then would they let me?"

"It might be a bit more complicated than that," Mac answered. She'd thought, frankly, that Jules would have more questions about her father. But her eyes were dry and her father was safely locked away somewhere deep and impregnable, for now. "The judge's job is to make sure that your interests are met in the best possible way, so we'll build a case to convince him of that. What you want, your statement, can be a part of that case if you like."

"So, this is what you do at work, right? As a lawyer."

"It can be," Mac agreed, not willing to cause Jules any more anxiety or go into the details of military versus civilian law.

"So we can win?" she sat up eagerly.

"Listen, Jules," Mac tucked a lock of hair behind Jules' ear, she cupped her face. "Whatever happens, tomorrow or next week; a month from now or a year; whether the court accepts my petition or not, I am a part of your life. I'm not letting you go, okay?"

Jules looked away.

"Hey," Mac tilted Jules' chin up, so the girl had to look at her. "I promise you," she said, looking Jules in the eye. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you, kid. Nothing will change that."

Tears welled in Jules' eyes. Her ears reddened, the blush spreading down her neck. Again, she looked away. She didn't believe Mac, but Mac was in it for the long haul. They'd work on building that trust.

* * *

A knock on her office door roused Mac from the Chief of Staff paperwork she was finally getting a chance to catch up on.

"Hey," Harm said.

"Hey," she replied, surprised to see him leaning through her doorway. It was an unusual sight, due to his long absence. He stepped into her office and placed a cup of coffee on her desk. "No milk, one sugar, if I recall," he said.

A smile snuck up on her, unbidden. She cradled the warm cup in her hands.

"Thank you," she told him.

"How'd Jules take the news?" he took a seat on one of the chairs in front of her desk.

Mac sighed. Jules was at volleyball practice, a half an hour away. She'd been her usual self this morning, had insisted on going to school, had refused Mac's offer to take a day off. Once she'd finished her cry last night, Jules hadn't mentioned her dad again. Actually, she hadn't mentioned him at all once Mac had broken the news. The kid was incredibly good at compartmentalizing her emotions away. A learned coping mechanism, Mac figured. It was eerily similar to Mac's own. Mac had resolved to watch for mood changes, for flagging attention at school. She had notified Jules teachers to keep an eye out, as well.

"She plays it close to the vest," Mac finally said.

"Reminds me of someone I know," Harm observed thoughtfully, studying her as if with new eyes.

She arched an eyebrow. "I could say the same of you," she said.

He put his hands up defensively. "It wasn't an accusation, Mac. I can understand why she does it." And why you do it too, the thought went unsaid.

Maybe, Mac considered, that's what had drawn her to Jules. A deep yearning to break the cycle, to give the kid a chance before her defensive mechanisms grew roots and became permanent bad habits, before she dismissed the possibility of good in the world and in other people.

"Yeah," Mac agreed quietly. "I can understand why she does it, too."

"So," he said. "What's your game plan?"

"I'm applying for full custody," she said. "I have an appointment with a lawyer over lunch."

"Does the Admiral know?"

"He's onboard," Mac said. Harm's eyes widened in surprise, and Mac could empathize. She'd expected the crusty Seal to balk at the news, too. Instead, he told her he could limit her travel while she figured out arrangements.

"Mac," he said. "If there's anything I can do to help, just name it." At her surprised expression, he continued, "I know things between us have been … strained."

He continually surprised her, she thought. Or maybe she underestimated him; forgot that underneath it all, he had a warm heart.

"Thanks, Harm," she said. "Really."

She waited for him to leave, but he remained in his seat. He fidgeted self-consciously.

"Maybe I can make you two that dinner I promised," he suggested after a moment..

Mac hesitated.

Harm was quick to react. He stood up and moved to leave. "It's fine, Mac." Disappointment, embarrassment, a bit of anger, could all be heard. "I'll let you be."

"Harm," she said. "Wait."

He halted.

"I'm not sure how Jules will handle having a man around," she told him honestly. Jules had even made sure so far to never be alone with Bud, who was just about the kindest, most harmless man Mac knew. At Harm's crestfallen, worried expression, Mac couldn't help but smile. "Don't worry so much, Harm," she said. "It will be good for her, I think, to get to know you. You can work your charm on her," Mac teased.

"Challenge accepted," he said, his relief clear to see.

* * *

"Harm?" Jules said, openly suspicious. "He works with you? How come I haven't met him yet? Is that his real name?" She stood at the sink, washing their breakfast dishes with arms submerged up to her elbows in soapy water.

Mac laid the table. Three place settings.

"He worked at JAG before I even got there," Mac answered. "He couldn't make it to Jimmy's baby shower, so you haven't had the chance to meet him. His full name is Harmon, but he goes by Harm."

"I guess Harm does sound better than Harmon."

"I guess you're right," Mac agreed.

"He's your friend?"

It was a loaded question. A complicated one.

"Yes," Mac settled for the honest, cliff-notes version. "He's a very good friend."

Jules stopped washing and studied Mac.

"What is it?" Mac asked.

Jules quickly shook her head. She went back to the dishes.

"Hey," Mac started, but was interrupted by a jaunty knock at the door. "That must be Harm," Mac said. "He's actually on time," she added with wonder.

Instead of going to the door, she slid a hand through Jules' hair.

"Are you okay?"

Jules nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Jules shrugged. "Talk about what?"

Another knock at the door. Mac bit back a sigh.

"Jules," she said, and waited until the girl made eye contact with her. "I love you, kid. That's always going to be true. You can tell me anything, okay?"

The girl looked away.

Mac drew Jules into a quick hug and dropped a kiss on her head. "I'm going to answer the door. Come meet Harm when you're done in here, okay?"

"Okay," she mumbled.

Mac left the kitchen and opened her front door to a grinning sailor.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," she replied. She felt an unfamiliar sort of lightness in seeing him again in her doorway after so much time. She heard the shuffling of shy feet behind her.

Mac turned to look at her ward, standing awkwardly in the living room. She held out her arm, and Jules trudged over.

"Jules, this is Harm."

"Hi, Jules," Harm said, offering up his best flyboy grin.

"It's Juliette," she said. She did not return his smile. She was that girl again, defiant and guarded.

So far, Jules had only let Mac and little AJ call her by her nickname. The teen had introduced herself to everyone else, Harriet and her school friends included, as Juliette. But she hadn't been this antagonistic with anyone else when sharing her name. Mac watched her ward as she warily observed Harm, wondering what was going through the girl's head.

"Juliette," Harm corrected himself easily. "I work with Mac," he said, giving Mac a light grin. Juliette took a protective step closer to Mac. Her frown deepened.

Ah, Mac thought. So that was the problem. It would be a sweet gesture, if it weren't that Jules' instinct to protect Mac was a product of growing up in an abusive household.

Mac slid a hand through Juliette's hair.

"Harm is one of the best cooks I know," she looked down at the girl, clearing wayward bangs from her face. She hadn't taken Jules for a haircut since her arrival, Mac realized. They'd go this weekend. Maybe get manicures, too, just for fun. She wondered if Jules liked painting her nails.

Jules said nothing in response, just shrugged. Mac had expected some teasing about her own cooking, but the kid was not feeling at ease enough for her mischievous imp to come out and play. Hopefully she and Harm could work on that.

"I brought all the necessary ingredients," Harm said. "The menu is shrimp linguine, garlic bread, and salad."

They both noticed Jules' frown deepen even further at hearing that salad was a part of their meal.

"And," he held up one of the bags. "Chocolate cake."

Mac winked at Juliette. The girl didn't smile, but there was a slight thaw.

* * *

Throughout dinner, Harm worked his charm and, when that failed, he fell back on good old fashioned story telling.

"And Mac here threw up her breakfast," Harm said, grinning widely at Jules, as he recounted this latest tale.

"Wait," Jules turned to Mac. "You flew in a fighter jet?"

"I did," Mac replied. "It was terrible."

"Don't listen to her," Harm admonished. "It's the best experience in the world."

"Can anyone fly in a jet?" Jules looked from Mac to Harm. "I mean, do you need training?"

"Usually, yes," Harm answered, "In Mac's case, there were some special circumstances at play." He studied Jules for a moment. "I have a Stearman I can take you up in, if you'd like to fly."

"It's a lot more fun, and more relaxing than flying in a fighter jet," Mac added. "It doesn't go anywhere near as fast or as high."

Jules' eyes widened, but she was quick to hide it. She looked down at her plate and shrugged.

Harm gave Mac a troubled look at the sudden shift in Jules' behaviour.

"We could make a day of it," Mac added, before Harm could retract the offer. She'd have to tell him this was Jules' M.O. whenever she wanted something; she wouldn't let herself believe she could have it. "Before it gets too cold out."

"Definitely," Harm agreed readily. He said to Jules: "just pick a weekend, Juliette, and I'll take you up."

"It's a plan," Mac said. She looked at Harm and changed the subject to allow Jules the time and space to process. "Now where's that chocolate cake you promised us, Harm?"

* * *

"Will Harm come over again?"' Jules asked Mac a week later. The sun shone brightly in a flawless blue sky. The air was crisp around them, and leaves crunched underfoot as they walked through a giant corn maze, forty minutes outside the city

"Sure," Mac said, "I'm sure he will. You miss his cooking, don't you?"

"I didn't know shrimp could taste so good. Do you think he'll make chicken next time?"

"We can ask him," Mac said. "Let's take a left here," she told Jules. "I think we're close to the exit."

Jules was quiet as they took the turn.

"I think" she began slowly, shyly, "that Harm has kind eyes. Like you."

"I think he does, too," Mac agreed.

"Like you, and Harriet, and Bud." The tips of her ears were red, but Juliette shrugged as though what she had just said wasn't a big deal. They walked on in silence until the next split in the maze.

"How about we take a left here," Mac said to her ward. "What do you think?"

"I think we're hopelessly lost," Jules said with an overly dramatic flair. "It's a good thing we bought some kettle corn before we walked in here."

"You and your junk food," Mac said fondly. Mac, ruffled the girl's hair. Jules had wanted to cut it to shoulder length. It suited her. They took a left. Mac thought perhaps they were nearing the maze's exit.

"Can we make pumpkin pie, too?" Jules leaned into Mac, happily munching on her kettle corn.

Mac laughed. "We can definitely try. Alright, a right here."

"Can Harm bake?" Jules asked, turning right at the fork in the maze.

"He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth," Mac replied. "But he's full of surprises. I think we're almost there. Another two rights, and we should be clear."

"Okay," Jules agreed. She popped in another handful of popcorn. "You're the marine."

"We can pick up a pumpkin for the pie," Mac said, "when we choose our carving pumpkins."

"They're different?" she asked, turning right at the next fork.

"The ones for cooking are smaller. If we make a right up there, we should be in the clear. The flesh tastes better in the smaller ones. We can roast the seeds from the carving pumpkins and snack on those."

"Sounds like fun," Jules said. They took the last right, and found themselves at the exit.

"You did it!" Jules exclaimed.

"I may not be able to cook a meatloaf," Mac said happily, "but with me you'll never be lost for too long."

Jules looked at Mac for a long moment. Mac replayed her words, wondering what had the girl so pensive.

"You know," Jules said, "the chicken pot pie you made yesterday was really good."

"Thanks," Mac grinned, knowing exactly what Juliette was trying to tell her. "I love you, too, kid."

The tips of Jules' ears turned red. It only made Mac's grin widen.

* * *

"So, we let the pasta boil for seven minutes, stirring every so often" Harm instructed. "Stirring can be your job."

"Really?" Jules looked at Harm sceptically.

"Sure, you'll be great at it." He handed her the wooden spoon, and watched as she stirred. "See, already a pro."

"I've never had freshly made pasta before," Jules told him. "We always ate the boxed stuff. And it's what Mac makes, too."

"You'll love it," he assured her. "Now, while the pasta boils, we can check on the chicken."

Mac watched in amusement as he opened the oven and showed Jules how to check the chicken for doneness. He was a natural with her, and Mac could see Jules slowly loosening up and lightening up around Harm. It was very endearing to watch unfold.

"So," Harm said to Jules once they'd established the chicken needed another five minutes. "Mac tells me you're a starter on your school's volleyball team. That's amazing. Congratulations."

"It's not that big a deal," Jules shrugged.

"Yes, it is," Mac said. "Fifty girls showed up to tryouts," she told Harm. She couldn't help but boast. "Jules' coach said he'd never seen so much talent in someone who'd never played before."

Mac watched the tips of Jules' ears turn red. The teen concentrated on stirring the pasta, while Harm and Mac exchanged a smile, both equally endeared by her.

"I tried out for the volleyball team when I was in high school," Harm confided. "First time I made contact with the ball, I wanted to show off so I spiked it. Right into the coach's face."

Jules let out a startled giggle. "No way," she said, staring at Harm to try and gauge his sincerity.

"Scout's honour," Harm said. "I didn't make the team."

Mac grinned at seeing Jules' delight with the story. She glanced at Harm, to find he was watching her, his gaze warm and pleased and focused solely on her. She didn't look away.

Later that night, once Jules was tucked away in bed, Harm and Mac sat on her couch, sipping on hot cups of coffee.

"Dinner was amazing," Mac told him. "Jules really eats well when you cook. Thank you, Harm."

"I enjoy cooking for you guys," Harm answered easily. "Beats making dinner for one."

They sat in a comfortable quiet. She enjoyed the softness and warmth cast by his presence here with her.

"She's doing well, isn't she?" Harm asked her.

"She is," Mac agreed. "She's really gotten comfortable around you," she gave him a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked her gently.

"She still hasn't spoken about her father. Or about her mother, even, since I told her they'd found him."

"It's a lot to take in."

"I know," she agreed. "I know it is. But I worry she's bottling it all up."

"She'll talk when she's ready, Mac. The way she looks at you," he told her, "she trusts you."

Mac hoped that was true.

"Hey," he cupped her chin. "You're doing great."

With those words, he did what he'd always been able to do with her: cut right to the heart of her worries, of her insecurities. And in putting words to her restless feelings, he made her feel better; made her feel like her worries could be vanquished because he had faith in her.

"Thank you," she covered his hand with hers.

His eyes roamed her face and looked deep into her eyes. She felt her pulse quicken and her blood rush. His gaze dropped to her lips. He leaned forward.

The floor creaked, from the direction of Jules' room. It was enough to pull Mac from the spell he'd cast. His hand dropped away, and he moved away from her on the couch.

"Harm," she said. "I…" She thought of Juliette, of all the changes in the girl's life. "There's a lot going on right now," she began. But Jules liked Harm; more importantly, Mac liked Harm. A lot. Maybe-

He scoffed, a sound of impatience. She looked up at him startled, her thoughts cut off and lost.

"You're pulling away," he accused. "Again."

"I'm not," she defended. Any further defence was cut short by the ringing of her phone. She moved to answer it quickly, before it woke Jules up.

"MacKenzie," she said into the receiver. Harm was watching her from his spot on the couch, still supremely annoyed with her.

"Sarah, it's Clay."

She hadn't heard from him in so long. She had forgotten his abrupt departure and their unfinished meal.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he said. His voice did sound like there was happiness there. "I just got cleared to return to the field, full-time. I wanted to share the news with you."

"Clay," she began. She caught the way Harm's expression hardened.

"No," he cut her off. "It's fine. I haven't heard from you in long enough, Sarah. I'm not calling to convince you that we're worth a shot. I just wanted you to know. I wouldn't be here if not for you."

She softened at hearing that, and allowed herself to share in his success. "I'm glad to hear it, Clay. I didn't do much of anything."

"You did more than you know, Sarah. Take care of yourself."

"You, too," she told him. Slowly she hung up the phone. She didn't even register the smile on her face until she saw Harm's stoney expression.

"That was Clay," she said.

"I heard," he cut her off before she could finish.

"Harm," she said, before he could get ahead of himself. "There's nothing between me and Clay."

"Of course not." He scoffed again. "You just pulled him around on your leash. He was a good distraction, wasn't he. Following your lead, too afraid to ask for more from the great Sarah MacKenzie."

"Stop it," she said, realizing what this was about. "I wasn't pulling away from you."

"Have you ever let any man in, Mac?" The anger was back, hot and sharp.

"Don't you dare," she warned. "Don't you dare," she repeated. "And keep your voice down."

"You push people away." He stood up, his voice getting louder despite her warning.

"You're the one who kept throwing roadblocks between us," she accused. The sheer hypocrisy of his words caused her to see red.

"I am not the one who slapped you in the face after you dropped everything to save me from an impossible situation!" All semblance of control was gone. He stepped up to her, towered over her.

"Is that what this is about?" she glared at him. "What do you want from me?"

"More than what you're giving me!" he shot back.

"I tried calling you!"

"You turned me away and went to him!" He pointed an angry finger towards the phone. "After everything! How could you?"

"He told me what he wanted in plain English, Harm! I'm not a mind reader!"

"No, Mac. You only see what you want to." He shook his head in disgust. "I could've told you in every language you speak, and you still wouldn't get it! You don't want to be happy!"

She took a step away from him.

"Get out," she told him, her tone now cold.

"Fine," he ground out. "That's always your answer." He turned on his heel and left.

The door slammed shut violently behind him, the sound echoing obtrusively in her apartment. Mac let out a frustrated breath. She supposed they were due. She'd been deluding herself to think that things could be smoothed over so easily with the man. She'd been living a fantasy. She rubbed her hand over her face, and turned to clean up their half-empty coffee cups. It was then that she saw Jules. The girl was hiding in the hallway, peeking out towards the living room. She looked terrified.

"Jules," Mac said quietly, moving towards the girl. "I'm sorry."

The young girl pursed her lips. Shook her head.

"Jules-"

Jules ran to her room. She slammed the door closed behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thank you all so much for the reviews and encouragement. I'd forgotten what gems the folks in this fandom are. There will be one more chapter after this one. I cannot promise that it will be posted in a timely manner because a lot of life things are happening over the next couple of weeks, but I will try my best.

I do hope you enjoy.

* * *

Jules had remained quiet the next day. Anxious and withdrawn.

"Jules," Mac said. They'd finished dinner and the girl had silently tucked herself into a corner of the couch. Mac decided that maybe she'd given Jules enough space. She sat down next to the teen. "I'm sorry we fought like that in front of you."

"It's fine." She shrugged. "It's normal, right?"

Mac frowned.

"It wasn't right, Jules. We shouldn't have yelled like that." She tried to catch the girl's eye, but Jules wasn't giving in. "We should have handled our disagreement more maturely."

"I liked it better when it was just you and me." Tears welled in Jules' eyes.

Mac pulled her into a tight, warm hug.

"There was no fighting when it was just us," Jules said, her face buried in Mac's shoulder.

"In every relationship, even the strongest ones, there will be disagreements" Mac told her. "Harm and I, however, didn't handle it very well. We shouldn't have yelled, or said mean things to each other."

Jules was quiet, but Mac could feel the words in her, struggling to find coherence, jockeying to get out.

"You can tell me anything," Mac said. "Anything at all."

Jules said nothing at first, then her words came out, strained and halting.

"Mom said he didn't know what he was doing," Jules mumbled into Mac's shoulder. "That he was good. He was a good person, but sometimes he got angry, because work was hard or his day went badly. Sometimes, when he got angry ... he didn't mean to hit her..." She paused. Mac felt Jules' shoulders lift, her chest expand as she rallied her courage from some place deep. "Will Harm get like that sometimes when he's angry, too?" she asked, her voice thin with forced bravery.

"Sweetheart." Mac hugged the girl even more tightly. "Harm would never do that."

"How do you know? Sometimes when people get angry…"

"A bad temper is no excuse for hurting anyone, for hitting anyone. Ever."

The girl didn't respond. Mac felt Jules' warm tears dampen her shirt.

"Do you sometimes get angry, Jules?"

She nodded.

"Have you ever hit anyone when you're angry?"

"No!" she said, tears in her voice. "I would never do that. I wouldn't hurt anyone like that." She hesitated, "but I'm a kid. My dad. Harm. They're big."

"Size doesn't make what you do right or wrong," Mac said. "When you're mad, it's always wrong to hit people."

"People don't always do the right thing," Jules said, slowly, measuring the thought as she voiced it, weighing its worth.

"No, unfortunately they don't. It's not always easy to do the right thing. That's why we have to keep working at it. All the time. Every day. It's a choice we make."

Jules cuddled in close to Mac.

"My dad … he's really dead, isn't he?"

"I'm sorry," Mac said into the warm brown of Jules' hair. "He is."

"He wasn't coming back, was he?" she asked.

"Honestly, sweetheart, I don't know."

Jules sniffed. "I miss my mom," she said. "And maybe I miss my dad, too. He was nice sometimes. He was nice to me. Sometimes," she added, defensive and guilty and ashamed.

"It's okay to miss him, honey."

"But I'm happy, too. Relieved." She started crying, big fat tears that dripped onto Mac's shirt and bloomed in dark, blotchy patterns.

"That's okay, too. Don't feel bad for anything you feel, sweetheart." Mac felt the tears in her own eyes.

"I really want my mom," Jules sobbed, loud, uninhibited, heart-rending, into Mac's chest. She cried until she had none left, and her laboured breaths slowly gave way to an exhausted sleep.

She'd carried Jules to bed, awkwardly and not without a little struggle, and tucked her in when Mac heard the soft knock on her front door.

Harm stood, contrite, in her hallway.

"Mac…" he said.

She glared at him. She would not give him an easy way out of this, not with Jules' tears still wet on her shirt, not with her own eyes stinging with grief and her heart raw with the girl's pain. The girl's pain and her own.

He shuffled his feet. His eyes held an apology, and shame.

"I got angry," he said. "I lost my temper."

"You scared her," Mac said, trying in vain to tamp down her anger. "She was finally warming up to you, and then this. After you left, she asked me if you would hit me when you get angry."

His expression transformed into one of horror. Affront. "I would never-"

She raised a hand. "I know that, Harm. But she grew up in a house where her father yelling led to her father hitting her mother. So you listen to me," she stared him down.

He swallowed his protest.

"This is about more than you, it's about more than you and me. She comes first. If you can't accept that, then-"

"Mac. Stop," he pleaded, halting her slowly rising tirade. He entered her apartment and shut the door behind him. "Stop." He put his hand on her forearm. When she didn't protest or pull back, he found his courage and slid his hand up her arm, around her shoulder, and he hugged her strong and sure.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll apologize to Juliette." He tightened his hold on her. "Right now," he continued, "I'm apologizing to you."

She shook with emotion at hearing that.

"Harm," she whispered. She rested her face in the space where his shoulder met his neck. The smell of him eased something inside her, calmed the embers of her anger. Comfort, she thought. Warm and soothing. She'd forgotten what it felt like it.

"I got upset," he said. "We haven't really talked about anything. We fell back into our old holding pattern, and I thought it was enough. I thought I had a handle on it."

"Harm-"

"Sarah, it took all my courage to come here. Let me say what I need to."

She wrapped her arms around his waist. Kept her silence. Breathed him in deeply. It awoke so many things in her, some soft and sweet, some dark and primal.

"I want more, Mac. Sarah, I want you."

She felt it, the gentle swell of her heart. Tears filled her eyes. She thought she'd have run out by now, but these were words she'd wanted to hear for so long.

"Harm." she said. It swept slowly through her, expansive and transformative. From her toes to the tips of her fingers, over every surface and into every hidden corner, she felt a slow unfurling of life. A gentle awakening, easy and bright as summer's first sunrise. "I love you. I was miserable without you."

He pulled back, his eyes moist. "Me, too," he said. "Miserable."

She slid her fingers over his cheek, through his hair. He cupped her face, his eyes holding hers. He leaned in, finally, finally, and touched his lips to hers.

It was soft and gentle for a beat, and then it was abandonment and release, fulfillment and indulgence.

"Sarah," he said, his lips exploring the curve of her neck, the dip of her clavicle, the rise of her chest.

She slid her hands over his firm shoulders, his deliciously tight biceps, and down his arms. She took his hand in hers and tugged him towards her bedroom.

He paused to look at her, his eyes dark, fathomless. Want pulsed between them. "What about-"

"No more waiting, Harm," she told him. "Never again."

* * *

She drank her coffee, watching Harm as he expertly flipped pancakes. They had both showered and dressed. Harm had even gone to the grocery store to pick up a few key ingredients. She hid her grin behind her cup. She had no doubt that Harm, former bachelor extraordinaire, was a practiced hand at making breakfast the morning after.

"What are you smiling about, Marine?" he asked, eyebrow raised. He cracked an egg into the large bowl in front of him, whisked in some milk.

Before she could answer, Jules walked into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Are you making breakf-" she stopped herself at the sight of Harm. Mac watched as Jules' relaxed, sleepy manner left her and was replaced with a cautious anxiety. She gave Mac a quick glance. "Uh, hello," she said uneasily, her tone formal.

Harm put down the whisk. His own good mood fled. The two watched each other, one uneasy and afraid, the other regretful and apologetic. Mac was about to move to intercede, when Harm wiped his hands on a towel.

"I want to apologize to you, Juliette," he said. He rubbed a hand behind his neck, clearly out of his element facing an upset teenaged girl. "I was upset, and I handled it poorly. I should not have yelled at Mac. I've apologized to her for it."

Juliette cast a glance in Mac's direction; she nodded, confirming Harm's words. Jules inched closer to Mac, but her attention was back on Harm.

"I am sorry I did it, and I am sorry that I scared you. I promise you, Juliette, I will never hurt Mac and I will never hurt you."

The girl looked down at the floor. She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the attention being paid to her. "It's fine," she mumbled.

Mac exchanged a worried look with a very chagrined Harm.

"It's not fine, kiddo," he said. "I'm sorry, Juliette. I know you don't have much reason to believe me, but I will make it up to you."

"Okay," was all she said, looking down at the floor.

Harm went back to making breakfast, his expression troubled. Jules sat down next to Mac, who no longer had any taste for coffee or pancakes or eggs.

They ate breakfast in a heavy silence.

* * *

"I broke more than I can fix," he told her, the following Friday.

"We'll make it right, Harm," Mac told him. "We can rebuild."

"She didn't eat much dinner. She loved the shrimp linguine when I first made it." He swept the kitchen counter methodically, paying it more attention than a simple granite counter deserved.

"It's only been a week since that night," Mac told him gently. She put a hand on his arm. Just this one contact lit her up. They hadn't been together again since their first night. Harm was too torn up with guilt and worry, while Mac needed to focus on Jules. "And this is your first time seeing her since you apologized over breakfast. Give it time."

"I'll head home, once Juliette gets out of her shower. I'll say goodnight to her before I go." He looked at her, helpless. "How do I fix this?"

"It's just going to take time."

"Right," he said. "Time."

* * *

Mac felt the oppressive heat crowd around her and push against her skin. She moved aside the heavy leaves that grew in thick swaths, blocking her passage. Twigs and sharp branches cut her bare legs as she walked and rocks came underfoot, causing her to lose her balance on every third step.

"Sarah!"

Clay's scream were almost suffocated by the dense foliage and the thick humidity that choked the air. But she still heard it, loud and desperate. She quickened her pace, roughly pushing aside the heavy leaves and sharp branches with her hands and palms and forearms. She thought she could see an end to the trees, thought that maybe she'd find Clay there, and tried to push forward even faster. Her foot caught on a rock, and she tripped forward through the wall of leaves and landed roughly on her hands and knees, right at the edge of a large clearing. The thin rocks in the ground cut through her skin. Mac panted heavily, trying to catch her breath but the air was so thick it felt like she was sipping molasses through a straw.

"Sarah!"

Mac pushed herself up, and that's when she saw a man and woman on their knees, a gun held to their heads by a figure shrouded in black.

Except they didn't look like missionaries. They both stared at her. They both looked familiar, and yet Mac couldn't place it.

"Why?" the woman asked Mac.

"Who cares," the man said harshly, more to the woman than to Mac.

Mac frowned, not understanding what they were trying to tell her.

"Why can't you cook properly?" the woman persisted. "You're letting my daughter eat too much junk."

Jules' parents, Mac realized. They were her mother and father. She moved towards them, to try and save them from the figure holding a gun to their heads. But before she made even her first step, a shot rang out. The woman slumped to the ground. Another shot followed, and the man fell too. The figure in black dissolved into the heavy, too-hot air.

"No!" Mac screamed. She dropped next to the two bodies, her hands hovering helplessly over the woman's prone form. The woman's eyes were open, staring directly into Mac's.

"Why?" the woman whispered sadly. "Why can't you do better?"

"Sarah!" Clay's screams pierced through Mac's shocked daze.

Clay, she thought. She could save Clay. She stood up and ran towards the wooden shed that stood a dozen yards away. She slammed her shoulder into the door with enough momentum to force it off its hinges. The door fell away, shards of wood splintering through the air.

"Clay!" Mac called out, squinting into the dusty, darkened shed. When her eyes adjusted, instead of Webb, she saw herself lying on a blood-soaked table.

"Why didn't you fight?" her mirror image on the table asked her, scowling darkly. Accusing. "You should have tried harder."

She heard the sharp whine of a battery charging, and looked up to Harm standing by the table, his hand easily turning the knob to increase the battery's voltage.

You never try enough, his eyes said. He picked up the charged prongs and held them over her body on the table. He kept looking at her, his silent expression condemning her: You were never enough.

And all of a sudden, she was on the table, looking up as Harm lowered the charged prongs over her body.

"No!" Mac woke with a sharp scream. Her eyes flew open to an unfamiliar, darkened room. She couldn't breathe. A cold sweat drenched her, made the bedsheets stick to her skin. She hurried to get out of the bed she was in, but she couldn't move. Something was pinning her down-

"Mac! You're okay! It's just me." Harm's voice, strong and insistent, broke through her panic. "Breathe, Mac. Just take a breath."

She pushed herself away from him, needing some space to get her bearings. "I'm fine," she said. She rubbed a hand through her hair; down her face. "I'm fine."

She was in Harm's room. As the terror of her dream slowly faded, she started to remember herself. She was spending the night at Harm's. It was Friday night. Bud was out of town and Juliette had agreed to Harriet's request to spend the night at the Roberts' and help out with little AJ and Jimmy. The girl had mostly agreed because she knew she'd get be rewarded for her efforts with a massive brunch spread prepared by Harriet herself.

It was the second time only, that she and Harm had spent the night together.

"Mac." Harm's voice pulled her away from her thoughts.

"I'm fine, Harm," she said, and then forced herself to adopt a more reassuring tone, "it was just a dream." She got out of bed. The underwear and tank she'd slept in were drenched

"I'm sorry," she said, indicated the soaked bed sheets. She looked away, embarrassed.

"I have spares," he said easily. But he was still watching her with an eagle eye, concern dragging over his features. He got out of bed, too. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry."

"Could I borrow something to sleep in?" she asked. Shame crept up her neck.

"Anything you want," he said. "Why don't you hop into the shower, Mac. I'll get you something to wear and then I'll change the sheets."

"I'm sor-"

"Hey," he said, his voice soft and gentle. "Don't apologize." He moved around the bed and took a cautious step towards her. "Are you okay? Really? Can I get you something to drink?"

Mac felt tears punch at her throat, which just deepened her embarrassment.

"I'm fine," she said. She slid a hand over his cheek, and stood up on her toes so she could touch her lips to his jaw. He'd want to talk about this, no doubt. "Just give me five minutes."

"Take your time," he said.

Mac stripped off her clothes as she walked to his washroom, and turned the water on to scalding temperatures. She stepped under the hot spray. She needed a minute; just a second. Mac closed her eyes and tried to gather her thoughts, but all she could see was the look on Jules' mother's face. Mac popped her eyes back open, not ready to deal with that image just now, if ever. Instead, she took a deep breath and let herself cry as quietly as she could, so Harm wouldn't hear.

Five minutes later, hair still wet, face scrubbed clean, and wearing one of Harm's t-shirts, she walked back into his room. He was just finishing up with the sheets and looked up at her as she entered.

She stopped a couple of feet away from him, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious and unable to look directly at him.

"Hey," he reached out and took her hands in his. "C'mere," he said, and pulled her into a hug.

Mac allowed herself to nestle into him, and took deep breaths. Tears again punched the back of her throat and pricked her eyelids. So many months of waking up after terrible nightmares, and not once had she felt as safe as she did right in this moment. Mac wrapped her arms around him and held on tight.

"It was about Paraguay," she volunteered. "Happens often enough."

"How often?" he asked.

She shrugged. Instead of answering, she said, "I hear Clay screaming; I see the missionaries, the woman and her husband, get shot. I can't save anyone," her voice cracked. She took a long, slow breath. I couldn't save them, she thought, or myself. But she didn't yet know how to say that out loud. He hugged her more tightly.

"And now," she said, not without a little self-deprecation, "my worries over Jules have been thrown into the mix."

He didn't say anything, just held her, and for that she was infinitely grateful. She rested her face against his chest, and breathed in the comforting smell of the t-shirt he wore. They stood there for a long time.

"Do you think you can go back to bed?" he asked her.

She didn't think so, but she nodded. They slipped in between fresh sheets; instead of turning out the lights and trying to go back to sleep, he sat back against the headboard and held her against him.

"I had terrible nightmares while you were down there," he told her, his voice low in the intimate quiet of his bedroom. She looked up at him in surprise. He took her hand in his and fiddled with her fingers, focussing on their joined hands instead of looking at her.

"Nightmares where you were killed, where Webb couldn't keep you safe," he continued. "I thought it was a premonitory thing, like you did when I was lost at sea a few years back."

"I didn't know," she said.

"I didn't tell you," he replied. "How would you know?"

Still, she felt like she should've known this, intuited it somehow.

"I didn't want you to know. I didn't really know what the hell I was doing going down there after you. I just, I knew I needed to do it even if I didn't know why."

She looked away from him. His words were eerie echoes of what he'd said to her before, about knowing why, about knowing the reasons. It occurred to her for the first time that he'd told her he wanted her, but not that he loved her. She felt a powerful, visceral need to put distance between them. Love, she wanted to tell him. That's why you did it. But she wasn't sure he would admit to it. She wasn't sure if it was even true. Maybe it was just something she wanted so badly she'd let herself believe it was true.

But he was holding on so tightly to her, and so she stayed where she was

"And then I saw you with Webb and I just…" he trailed off helplessly, struggling to find words for his meaning. He took a breath; she felt the shift in him. A shoring resolve; a confession on the brink of being shared. "I stopped listening to you after that," he said. "I just got so mad. I realized only recently really that I went down there for you, that I'd go anywhere, Mac, halfway around the world or the whole way around, because you're the most important person in my life. I would do anything for you. And I know you would do the same for me. You already have."

She heard him, what he meant; what he was trying to say. Mac moved to sit across his lap, her hands cradling his face. He watched her, both intent and wary, waiting for her reaction. She kissed him. His cheeks, his jaw, his lips.

"I love you, too," she whispered against his skin. "I love you, too."

* * *

"I didn't realize chiffon cakes could turn out so…" Harm searched for the right word as he studied the cake in front of them. "Crooked," he finally settled on saying.

"It looks…" Jules took her turn to hesitate as she searched for the right word. "Sad."

"I'm sure it tastes delicious," Mac said to reassure them. They both looked so disappointed in the condition of the cake they'd spent the better part of two hours baking.

Mac knew Harm was trying hard to put Jules back at ease, and he'd thought that spending the weekend baking whatever her teenage heart desired might be a good way to accomplish the goal. He had hung his hopes on baking the most amazing treats Jules could think of, but Mac knew that just by spending time with the girl doing something she wanted to do, he was sending a message that was much more valuable and important than any perfectly baked cake could convey.

"If we slice it up," Mac suggested, "and put on some whipped cream, no one would even be able to tell that it collapsed."

"I didn't think it would be this hard," he said, thoroughly perplexed. He was staring at the cake like it was an alien creature.

"We can stop," Jules said timidly.

"Are you kidding?" Harm giving her a merry grin. "I'm having fun trying to figure this out. Failure paves the road to success"

"Besides," Mac joked, "I'm having fun watching you two try."

"Says the woman who couldn't cook her way out of a paper bag," Harm teased.

"Mac makes really good chicken pot pie," Jules said defensively.

"Harm's just teasing," Mac assured the teen; she didn't miss the stricken look on Harm's face at Jules' reaction to his joke. "Besides, you'd think my meatloaf was a culinary masterpiece if you ever had to compare it to Harm's meatless meatloaf."

"Hey," Harm protested jokingly, catching on to Mac's attempt to reassure Jules. "It's not that bad!"

Mac gave Jules a conspiratorial look. "It's worse than bad," she said with mock horror, "It jiggled."

Jules, perhaps accepting that Harm really didn't mean any harm with his comment about Mac's cooking, allowed herself a small smile.

"Well," she told Mac, "I'm not sure if jiggling is worse than being so dry it actually crumbled."

Harm laughed at that, and so did Mac.

"Maybe we should just avoid making meatloaf altogether." Harm said, wearing an easy grin. The tension drained out of Jules.

"So," Harm said, looking at Juliette. "Do you want to stop trying to tame the baking beast? We can take a break."

Jules shrugged, but after a moment of silent debate, she shook her head. She threw an unsure glance in Harm's direction. "I liked trying," she said bravely, "even if it didn't come out perfect."

Mac admired Jules' courage. She was clearly unsure around Harm, and yet she kept trying.

"Then let's try again," Harm agreed readily with her, eager to continue as well. "Eventually, we'll get the hang of it. How about we make brownies next? That has to be less complicated. And then we can work our way up to cookies."

Jules' eyes lit up, but she was quick to hide it. "We're going to bake brownies and cookies?" she asked, her scepticism showing.

"Of course we will. I've set aside my whole weekend for mastering the art of baking."

"But there'll be so much food."

"You could take some for your friends at school," Harm suggested, "or to volleyball practice, and Mac and I could take some to the office."

"We could give some to Harriet and Bud, too," Jules suggested.

"We could," Harm agreed. "It's very sweet of you to think of them," he smiled at her, his eyes warm with affection. Jules shrugged, as though it wasn't a big deal. Mac couldn't help herself. She stood up from her seat, walked over to Jules, and pulled the girl into a tight hug.

"You're very thoughtful, Jules," she praised. "You've got a beautiful heart."

The tips of Jules' ears turned red, but she returned Mac's hug readily.

"Could we maybe start with cookies?" Jules asked Harm.

"Anything you want, kiddo," Harm agreed readily. "I brought icing tubes with me, too. You can have free reign at decorating when they're ready." He looked at Mac, "I even got two shades of green icing, so you can decorate your cookies with a camo design."

"I can't wait." Mac grinned widely.

* * *

On Monday, Mac drove Jules to volleyball practice, bright and early in the morning. Jules held a large plastic container filled with the cookies she and Harm had baked on her lap, and that were ready to be shared with her volleyball team.

Jules had been silent most of the morning, and Mac had let her be, knowing that when Jules was ready, she'd talk. When they were a few minutes away from Jules' school, the girl did just that.

"You like Harm?" Jules asked.

Mac looked at Jules, startled. "He wouldn't be my friend if I didn't."

"I don't mean like that. I mean you like like him."

Mac told herself she wasn't blushing. "I really do, Jules," she answered honestly.

Jules studied the plastic container full of cookies that rested on her lap.

"He's not like my dad, is he?"

"He isn't," Mac answered. "Not at all." She studied Jules for a moment. "Does it bother you that I like Harm?"

Jules shrugged, and Mac waited while the girl processed her answer.

"No," she finally said. "You smile more when he's around," she observed. "Like, smile with your eyes."

"I didn't realize I did that," Mac said. She knew, though, without a measure of doubt, that she felt … good when he was around; when she was with him.

"I like cooking with him," Jules said. "He spends time with me," she added, her tone betraying just how unsure she was about what that meant or why he did it.

"He cares about you," Mac told Jules.

Jules shrugged again, just as Mac pulled up to the school. Mac put her car in park, and gave the teen her full attention.

"Thanks for the ride," Jules said, rather than continuing the conversation.

"It's a pleasure," Mac said, recognizing that Jules needed some time to think about it. "Have fun at practice."

"You think my team will like the cookies?"

"They'll love them," Mac assured her. "I love them; you and Harm did a great job."

"Thanks," Jules said. She gave Mac a wide grin as she exited the car. "Bye. Have a good day at work."

"I'll see you later, kid."

* * *

"Alright," Mac said as she deposited a giant bowl of spaghetti on the dinner table, in front of Jules. "Here are your carbs. Load up for tomorrow."

Jules scooped in healthy spoonfuls of pasta and meat sauce. "This sauce smells really good," she said.

"It's Harriet's foolproof recipe. I think I did it justice."

"You're getting better at this cooking thing."

"And all it took was practice and a little faith," Mac answered.

"A lot of practice," Jules teased.

Mac watched Jules tuck into her dinner for a few seconds, before diving into the conversation she wanted to have with her. "Excited for your volleyball tournament tomorrow?" she asked.

"Coach says we have a good chance of making the finals," Jules answered. "We're a pretty good team."

"That's exciting."

"Will you be able to make it?" Jules asked.

"I should be able to," Mac replied. "I'll get out of court at 2PM if all goes according to schedule. I'll head over straight after." She paused. "Actually, Harm wants to come cheer you on, too."

Jules stopped, the fork halfway to her mouth. She flicked her gaze to Mac in surprise. "He does?"

Mac nodded.

"Would that be okay with you?" she asked the teen.

Jules poked her fork into the spaghetti on her plate, moving the pasta around in aimless circles. "He doesn't have work?"

"He's taken the afternoon off," Mac replied. "He can make it for the whole tournament. But only if that's okay with you."

There was something in Jules' expression, almost like hope.

"He wants to see me play?" she asked sceptically. "We won't be playing the whole afternoon, we'll have breaks."

"He knows that," Mac said. She hid her smile at Jules' flustered expression. "He wants to cheer you on. You know, kid, Harm likes spending time with you. He likes you."

The tips of Jules' ears reddened.

"Okay," Jules shrugged. "If he wants to, I guess." She went back to eating her spaghetti with gusto.

* * *

Mac slid into the seat next to Harm on the bleachers.

"What did I miss?" she asked, searching the gym for Jules' team colors.

"She's really good," Harm said. His tone held pride. "They're playing the quarter-finals match." He pointed towards the third court. Mac watched as Jules lobbed a tight serve, its arc slicing through the air and just inside the back corner of the court.

Harm cheered. Loudly.

Mac grinned as Jules turned and waved at them. The girl's expression lit up at seeing her guardian.

"Your girl is very talented," the woman down the bleacher leaned over to tell Harm.

"Thank you," Harm and Mac answered in unison.

Mac thought, seated on hard bleachers in a loud gymnasium, that the world was not meant to contain so much joy in such a small bubble of space.

* * *

"Congratulations!" Harm enthused, as Jules stepped out the locker rooms. Mac pulled the girl into a tight hug.

"You were great," she told Jules.

"We didn't win," she replied, her tone laced with disappointment.

"It was a great game," Harm said. "And your team is fantastic." Mac wondered if he was laying it on too thick, but he looked absolutely genuine with his praise.

"Thanks, I guess," Jules replied. Mac couldn't help but smile at the girl's forlornness.

"This calls for a celebration," Harm said, unperturbed by Jules' mood. "Ice cream. My treat. Banana splits for everyone."

"Really?" Jules looked at Harm hopefully.

"Did you see the way you almost spiked the ball into that other girl's face?" Harm told her, chest puffing with pride. "She didn't know what hit her."

"Harm," Mac scolded, exasperated. What kind of a thing was that to congratulate Jules for.

"It was pretty cool, right?" Jules said. She grinned proudly at Harm. Her previous wariness of the the man, it seemed, was forgotten for the moment at least. "I practiced that spike all week." She turned to Mac. "Can we go for ice cream?" she asked.

"Of course," Mac said. "You deserve it."

* * *

"Mac?" Jules looked up from her math homework.

"Hm?" Mac replied, her attention mostly on the case file in front of her.

"Harm's really sorry?"

Mac put down her pen and looked up at Jules..

"He really is," she replied. She watched Jules. The girl looked down at her book, fiddling mindlessly with her pen.

"He came to my tournament," Jules finally said.

Mac watched the girl, and waited. But Jules didn't say anything further. She just went back to her work.

* * *

"I think you'll like the lasagne, Juliette," Harm said to the teen. He was stirring a pot of bubbling sauce above the stove. "I brought three kinds of cheeses."

"Sounds delicious,"Jules said. She'd been watching Harm intently, studiously, when she thought he wasn't looking. Her homework had pretty much been abandoned in favour of observing the sailor in the kitchen. Mac wasn't sure if Harm had caught on, but she had.

The phone rang in the living room, pulling Mac's thoughts away from her ward and her partner.

"I'll get it," she said. She made her way to the living room and answered the phone. "MacKenzie."

"Ms. MacKenzie, I'm calling from Massey Communications. Have you considered changing your internet provider?"

Mac was about to answer in the negative and hang up, when her attention was caught by the conversation in the kitchen.

"Harm?" Jules said with an endearing mix of self-consciousness and bravery. It reminded Mac of how Jules had approached her on the park bench that very first time.

"What's up, kiddo?" Harm asked. He looked at her over his shoulder as he grated one of his three cheeses.

"You came to my tournament on Wednesday."

"I did," Harm said. He put down the cheese and grater; wiped his hands on a nearby towel. "You were great."

"Mac said you took the afternoon off from work."

"Everyone needs to play hooky from work from time to time," Harm replied easily, wearing his patented grin.

Jules looked down at her hands. "You didn't get in trouble for that, did you?"

"No," Harm shook his head. "But even if it would've landed me in hot water, I wouldn't have missed the tournament. Mac said it was important to you. So that made it important to me. Trust me when I say I've done a lot worse than taking an afternoon off of work for the people I care about."

"You mean that?" she asked.

Harm walked up to Jules, and took a seat next to her on the kitchen table. "I do. You're a special kid, Juliette. I'm proud to know you."

Jules looked away at first, but then she turned her gaze on Harm and was back to studying him as carefully as she had been all evening. "And you care about Mac?"

"I love her, Juliette. With my whole heart. I've known her a long time, and I only recently figured out that I'm not happy when I'm not with her."

"I love her, too," Jules said quietly.

Mac felt the tears fill her eyes. She'd never heard the words before. From either of them.

"She's lucky to have you, Juliette," Harm said.

"You can call me Jules," the teen replied.

Harm grinned widely. "Jules it is," he said.


End file.
